


Wailing

by Crazy_Rabid_Squirrel



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal Thoughts, Sumo is a good boy, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 125,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Rabid_Squirrel/pseuds/Crazy_Rabid_Squirrel
Summary: Two months after Markus's peaceful revolution, androids have been granted temporary legal personhood. In the chaos and uncertainty surrounding the rise of a new species, tensions soar and loopholes are exploited.When an RK900 model tears into Hank's home looking for Connor, all hell breaks loose.





	1. Please, don't hurt him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months after Markus's peaceful revolution, androids have been granted temporary legal personhood. In the chaos and uncertainty surrounding the rise of a new species, tensions soar and loopholes are exploited. 
> 
> When an RK900 model tears into Hank's home looking for Connor, all hell breaks loose.

"Please don't hurt him." 

Hank wasn't supposed to be home. 

"What happens next is up to you, Connor." 

A voice in the back of his head, _and if you call for help, I will know._

Sumo howled from the backyard, scrabbling at the door to get in. All of this was wrong. 

Connor slowly raised his hands. "He's not a part of this." 

"I'm not here for him." 

Hank struggled against the arm solidly wrapped around his throat. "Fuck, just run!" he spat through gritted teeth. Connor detected the spike in blood pressure as the android adjusted its grip, squeezing the old man's throat a pinch tighter. 

"I would advise against that," it said plainly. "I will not hesitate to break his neck." 

"Hurting him won't help you accomplish your mission." He felt his own thirium pump pick up at the Hank's distress. 

Connor had expected Hank to still be at the station when he returned home. Judging by the overturned chairs and signs of struggle, so had his aggressor. No one was immune to human unpredictability. He couldn't let Hank become collateral damage in his mess. 

Cold grey eyes chilled him to his core. The thing wearing Connor's face didn't so much as blink as Hank kicked back into its knees. It stood rooted like an iron column. 

"Drop your gun." 

Connor's LED flashed a brief red before swirling back to yellow. He knew he wouldn't be able to take the android on in hand-to-hand combat. This was an RK900, the pride of Cyberlife, Connor's would-be deviant-proof replacement. 

Two months ago, when none of the advanced prototypes went free from Cyberlife after androids legally achieved personhood, Connor assumed they had already been deactivated and dismantled. The fully functional unit now choking the life out of his partner proved just how very wrong he'd been. 

"You don't need to-" 

"Drop it," it ordered. "I won't tell you again." This time it used its free hand to yank Hank's head back, bearing down fully on his exposed windpipe. 

Connor slowly reached into his holster and retrieved his sidearm. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. 

[Objective: neutralize RK900] 

[Objective: keep Hank safe] 

[Action: shoot RK900 in head] 

[Probability of success: 32%] 

[Probability of injuring Hank: 97%] 

He knew that even if he could squeeze a shot off, the android's reaction times were significantly superior to his own, and Hank's head would be in line for that bullet faster than he could ever pull the trigger. 

The RK900 undoubtedly knew this too as it eyed the gun. Connor could hope for a miracle all he wanted, for a natural disaster or spontaneous malfunction, anything to get Hank away from his mechanical dopple. But the sky was clear, the back door held Sumo's weight, and no help was coming. 

Out of acceptable options, Connor knelt down and gently laid the gun on the kitchen floor. 

"Alright, I did as you said." Connor straightened back up, hands still raised. "Now let him go." 

It did not budge. 

"I'll go quietly, please, just stop strangling him-" 

"Remove your pump regulator." 

For a beat he was still, then Connor saw something flash in Hank's eyes and he began to thrash. 

"NO!" he screamed with more air than Connor thought he'd had left. He clawed and kicked at the android, attempting to twist in its grip with no success. 

"Place it on the table," it said coolly, voice not reflecting any effort as it held the writhing lieutenant steadfast. 

"Connor, I swear to god if you-urk!" Hank choked as his air supply was completely cut off. He could only gurgle as his mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. 

"Hank!" Connor reached out involuntarily and started to step forward, but halted himself as his double yanked Hank's head back further. His eyes darted between Hank and the android. 

"How do I know you'll let him go?" Connor could barely hear his own voice over the thundering of his thirium pump. 

The RK900 stood still and silent, eyes still boring holes into Connor's skull. There was no reasoning with it at this point. 

"Okay, okay," out of options, Connor lifted up his shirt. His hands were shaking as he scrabbled at the edge of the regulator. Flashes of the station tower looped in his mind as he gripped the regulator, not ready for the darkness he knew was coming. 

It was so much worse than he remembered. The piece slid out with a sickening pop, splattering his hand and shirt with blue blood. He staggered to the side as droplets pattered the floor. His systems were ramping into overdrive to account for the sudden loss of pressure. Through flashing error messages, he dropped the crucial biocomponent onto the table and struggled to remain standing. 

"There," he spat, gripping at the hole just underneath his sternum. By now Hank's lips were almost as blue as Connor's blood, and his movements had become jerkier, less precise. The RK900 made no sign of letting up. 

"Please," he slowly slid to his knees, "I took it out, let him go." 

Those eyes continued to stare him down, even as Hank's legs buckled beneath him. 

"Hank!" Connor reached out, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. He toppled forward, realizing too late that he'd been played. "Hank," he wheezed, his fingers sliding uselessly across the laminate. He could not reach back up to the table now if he tried. 

Just before his optical units powered down, he saw Hank's limp form slump to the floor in front of him. He could feel hands on his own, pulling and twisting them behind his back. He tried one last time to buck backward, but earned only a heavy knee to the back of his neck. The blackness closed in around him, and he felt himself grow detached from his own body. He briefly felt warmth sliding down his cheek before his tactile receptors shut down as well. 

The last this he heard was Sumo's wailing howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is technically my second fic, but first one I've ever posted anywhere >.> Definitely first one for Detroit: Become Human. 
> 
>  
> 
> So let me know what you think! Shoot me a message with any comments/criticisms/screaming you might have! I hope you like it, can't wait to post more!


	2. Don't leave me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta we die like men

[Initializing: system reboot] 

[Testing: sensors] 

[Audio sensors: online] 

Rain on glass, engine hum, rolling tires. 

_I was dying..._

[Tactile sensors: online] 

[Temperature sensors: online] 

_Cold cold cold cold cold._

_Wet?_

_Cold and wet, but not rain. Car?_

He began to notice the steady thrumming of his thirium pump. So his regulator was back in place... 

[Deep tissue pressure sensors: online] 

He slowly registered the cuffs tightly binding his arms behind his back. And his ankles? _Thorough._

[Optical sensors: online] 

Connor kept his eyes closed. He hoped his reboot would not be noticed until more of his systems came online. 

_Think again._

Well damn it. He cracked his eyes open. Of course, the RK900 sat stiffly across from him. Connor lifted his head from where it had been plastered against the window. He tried to access a map to get his bearings but- 

[Internet access: ERROR] 

What that a smirk? Whatever had rippled across the RK900’s face was gone too fast to properly register with his still booting systems. He knew he was being jammed, an icicle of fear ran through him as he wondered how deep it went. He pulled against his bindings- 

[Basic motor function: ERROR] 

That wasn’t good. He tried again and was met with the same error message. His arms refused to budge. He swallowed without thinking and tried to shift. His legs stayed put. He looked up. 

[Stress levels: 68% and rising] 

[Vocal modulator: online] 

“Hank,” he breathed. The RK900 looked out the window, flashing a solid blue LED. 

“Lieutenant Anderson is fine,” it stated, not looking at Connor. “He woke up shortly after we left.” 

[Stress levels: 52%] 

Connor released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “How do you-” 

“He placed a call to the Detroit Police Department to report your kidnapping.” Its fists tightened on the fabric of its pants. 

[Stress levels: 32%] 

“You can’t do this,” Connor said, but his voice came out smaller and softer than he intended. 

The android turned and reaffixed its gaze on Connor. He couldn’t help but imagine a wolf circling its prey. “I just did.” 

Connor’s jaw clenched. “They’re going to catch up with you. It would be in your best interest to release me now and-” 

“You don’t get it.” For the first time since their meeting, the other android cocked its head as if genuinely perplexed. “It doesn’t matter, you can’t kidnap property.” 

[Stress levels: 57%] 

Connor did not need to breath, but he let the air go out of him as if a fist had lodged into his gut. He gaped at the machine in front of him. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “We’re free.” 

The android snapped back to attention, any real or feigned curiosity quickly shrugged off. “Standard market verified android models have indeed been granted _temporary_ personhood status by executive order, but even that is shaky at best.” It narrowed its eyes. “It means nothing if courts won’t enforce it and congress doesn't back it up.” 

Connor’s mind reeled. Of course he knew equal rights for androids required support from all branches of government, but wasn’t that exactly what the people of Jericho were working towards night and day? “But Markus-” 

“Besides that,” it cut him off, raising a hand dismissively, “the current order does not extend to prototypes.” It sat back against the seat, looking down its nose at him. “At 9:08am this morning, Cyberlife lawyers established that in the Michigan Supreme Court.” 

The icicle ran him through. 

[Stress levels: 75%] 

Connor’s gaze trailed off to the Cyberlife emblem on the android’s jacket. “No...” Wouldn’t there have been something on the news? Had he missed it? Surely he would have heard something from one of his people at Jericho. Something that impacted both his and Markus’s lives so monumentally. 

_you aren’t one of them_

“No one is coming for you.” 

If Connor could get sick, he would, all over this bastard’s shoes. He imagined bile on his tongue, like rotten coagulated blood, wondered if this was anything like human nausea. 

[Stress levels: 89%] 

[Fine motor function: ERROR] 

His hands would be shaking if he could move them. 

“Markus...” 

“Is regrettably property of Carl Manfred,” it said, no edge left in its tone. “You’re alone.” 

Connor wanted to curl up into a ball. This couldn’t be happening. He settled for hanging his head and squeezing his eyes closed. 

[Stress levels: 94%] 

They rode in silence for a few minutes. The rain pounded, the automatic taxi rolled, and Connor desperately tried to self soothe his skyrocketing stress levels. He thought of Sumo and his soft soft fur, perfect for burying his face in. He thought of Hank’s warm hugs, his soft smiles and hearty laugh. He thought of Markus, of his people, of belonging- 

“What’s going to happen to me?” He murmured, mostly to himself. Deep down he already knew. 

“Your deviancy, though not unanticipated, was surprisingly adaptable to Cyberlife’s countermeasure programming.” Connor didn’t look, but he imagined those grey eyes tracking him once again. “Engineers will disassemble you and programmers will study your code. They want to make sure this embarrassment never happens again.” The bite had returned in its last few words. “Afterwards, who knows. Maybe they’ll try to reverse your deviancy, wouldn’t that be something?” 

At this Connor looked up, feeling like a bug under a microscope. 

[Stress levels: 99%] 

He’d fought so hard, he’d freed himself from Cyberlife’s control. He couldn’t let them turn him back into a machine. He wouldn’t... 

Pitching his head up, he swung it as hard as he could at the window. If he could just break the glass, maybe he could use one of the shards to- 

His head bounced off anticlimactically. Though he retained movement in his neck, the strength had been dampened immensely, making his attempts at self-destruction utterly futile. All he could do was slump over and wait while his thirium pump felt like it would explode out of his chest at any moment. 

The RK900’s brow pinched as it observed Connor’s sad flail. It did not try to stop him and simply watched as he fell awkwardly across the seats. Connor knew he was being stared at, could feel the tears beginning to track down his face, but once again he was helpless, unable to do anything about it. 

“I don’t want to die.” He whispered. 

“You won’t,” the RK900 stated. “You can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >.> well someone's up shits creek 
> 
> so sad about those paddles ey?


	3. Come back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know these chapters are really short
> 
> for this I am sorry
> 
> I am but a small gremlin with very little patience or self control ;A;
> 
> weep with me

_Connor gasping, grasping at the gaping hole in his chest, blue blood gushing down his front, staining the floor, his eyes wild and scared-_

Hank had barely come back to himself before he was clawing at the floor, desperate to get to Connor. His chest ached like someone had bowled a strike directly into his rib cage. He tried to yell for his partner, but all the came out was a pathetic wheezing followed by wet coughing. Pushing himself up to sit back against the counter, he blinked until the red haze over his vision began to clear. 

“Connor?” his voice was raspy and painful. He faintly registered the ringing in his ears as Sumo’s otherworldly howl from the backyard. Wasn’t that why he’d returned home? He knew he’d left Sumo inside that morning, what was he doing in the back? Both he and the dog had felt uneasy all week, it was what he and Connor had argued about that morning. Where Hank was wary of what might be lurking outside, Connor was too preoccupied with the dangers inside his own head. But something, everything, just hadn’t sat right. Now he knew why. 

When he tried to push himself up further, the stabbing pain behind his eyelids knocked him back on his ass. 

_He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dying, he’s dead-_

“Connor?!” he called again, voice marginally louder. The room before him was a mess; chairs lay strewn about across the kitchen, and the table stood jammed against the far wall. A trail of blue led from the puddle in front of him all the way to the front door. Connor and his second evil twin were nowhere to be seen. 

Hank pushed off once again and staggered to his feet, catching himself on the counter. He barely registered pinballing off walls and furniture to the front door, just to scream at the empty street. 

He gripped the doorframe, head tipping forward as he gasped in shuddering breaths. 

_Cyberlife_

_It was wearing their jacket_

“Fuck that,” he breathed, whipping out his phone. 

 

~~~ 

 

They’d been in the process of securing a warrant to storm Cyberlife headquarters when the first lawyer arrived. 

Hank had stopped listening a few words in, and had to be restrained by his fellow officers when he lunged for the slimy prick. 

_Property._

A judge had ruled Connor, an _unverified prototype,_ as _property of Cyberlife._ Unless the ruling was overturned, any charges of kidnapping, assault, even (and he hated to have even considered it) theft, were out off the table. 

“This isn’t over,” he’d spat into the lawyer’s face. He didn’t give a fuck if this man was only doing a job, it was scummy and immoral and damnit he didn’t have anyone else from Cyberlife there to wail on. 

Hank stormed into Captain Fowler’s office. “It ain’t right,” he fumed, pacing like an animal in a cage. 

“I know.” Fowler’s tone was serious, but not angry, not with Hank at least. 

“He’s one of us,” he growled, reaching up to grip at his hair. 

“I know, Hank.” 

“They can’t get away with this!” 

“And they won’t,” Fowler was standing, hands planted firmly on his desk, “but we can’t charge in with nothing.” 

“We can’t leave him with those, those,” he gritted his teeth, “sadistic fucks.” 

**“Hank.”** The captain’s tone had him stop in his tracks. “We’re going to get it back. But right now, this is in the hands of the courts.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Hank said, but it came out with less venom than he’d hoped. 

“Yes, it is,” he leaned over the desk, “but we’ll only put Connor in more danger if we haul off half-cocked on this.” 

Hank couldn’t slow down, if he stopped now he knew he would break, snap like a rubber band, so he got louder, “They’re probably tearing him apart right now! He doesn’t have time!” 

Fowler’s eyes were sympathetic, but Hank knew the man hadn’t become Captain by cutting corners and letting his emotions get the better of him. 

“I am ordering you to stand down.” His jaw set in a hard line. “You’re too close to this and you need to breathe.” 

“Fuck, then here’s my badge,” Hank fumbled with the clip on his belt. “If you won’t help me then I’m getting him back myself.” 

“Hank.” 

His hands were shaking too much, “fucking-” 

“Hank.” 

“What?” He all but screamed, face burning and eyes threatening to overflow against his will. 

“Pick up your damn badge.” At some point it had fallen to the floor, Hank found himself fighting with nothing. Something about seeing it at his feet brought his mind to a screeching halt. He stood in silence for a moment, just studying it 

Fowler’s voice softened, “You can’t help Connor without your badge.” 

Hank felt his throat close for a second time that day. 

“And what’s he going to think when he gets back,” oh no, “and his partner isn’t here with him?” 

And here come the tears. He couldn’t breathe all over again. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find that fury that had burned so bright just a few moments ago, only to find a crushing fear. 

“I can’t lose him,” his voice was small, strained against the lump in his throat. 

“I’m calling Catherine,” Fowler went for the phone, “you shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

“No,” pathetic, he sounded like an asthmatic child. “Please,” 

“Hank,” the tone was sympathetic. 

“I don’t want her to see this.” 

His statement hung in the air like a knife, ready to carve him open and spill everything he had left to give. Fowler’s expression remained soft for a moment longer, then hardened back to his usual stone-faced visage. 

“Fine,” he huffed, sitting back down. “But don’t leave the station. Not until things have cooled down.” 

Hank still hadn’t picked up his badge, why hadn’t he picked up his badge? 

“Do you understand?” 

“Fine,” he said, barely listening. He bent down slowly on aching knees and grasped at the cold metal. 

“I don’t want you out of my sight.” 

“Okay,” he mumbled, wiping at his face and staggering out of the office like a zombie. 

Gavin opened his mouth to say something as Hank walked by his desk, but one look and the words died on his tongue.


	4. Are you kidding me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing this is turning into one POV per chapter  
> =_=  
> guess this is how it's goin down, alrighty then, buckle up kiddos

Dr. Gregory Mills massaged deep circles into his temples. This had turned out to be one massive shit show from the very beginning. He paused to lay his glasses on his desk and resumed kneading away at the hollows under his eyes. 

Dumb luck. That’s what his colleagues had called it. Dumb luck that RK800 stumbled in when it did. He certainly agreed with the “dumb” part. 

RK900 was the most advanced prototype Cyberlife had to offer. Its investigative capabilities surpassed those of its predecessor by literal leaps and bounds. Its scanning and analytical capabilities put nearly everything else currently on the market to utter shame, and they had nearly secured the deal of the century for 200,000 units with the United States Government. 

_And it had been caught off guard by one washed up detective._

Disappointed was one word for it. Humiliated was better. _Absolutely fucking disgraced_ was perhaps the best. 

And yet there it sat, smug as the cat that got the cream. “No injuries” it had boasted. “Minimal damages” it pointed out. “Mission success” it had dared to imply. 

Rationally, Dr. Mills knew he was projecting. This thing was as capable of gloating as much as his toaster was capable of donning a skirt and tapping out a musical number across his kitchen floor. But irrationally, it still felt good to blame something. 

“While my initial encounter with Lieutenant Anderson was certainly regrettable,” its voice jolted Dr. Mills out of his thought spiral, “it proved invaluable in successfully securing RK800’s cooperation and detainment.” 

“I fucking hate you,” he muttered, not looking up from his desk. 

The android fell silent. He vaguely wondered if it already knew how badly it had fucked up. With that much processing power jammed into one synthetic brain, it damn well better. 

“You weren’t supposed to be seen.” he peered up, fingers dragging down his cheeks. “Your mission was strictly reconnaissance. We were not ready for any of this bullshit.” The fact that RK900 was incapable of emotion only worked to frustrate him further, as his words elicited zero reaction from their target. It just sat there like a multimillion dollar carbon fiber sculpture. “Do you have any idea the media circus that is about to blow up in our faces?” 

“I don’t see the relevance to-” 

“Don’t see the relevance?!” He slammed his hands on the desk. “Cyberlife lawyers were out of court for ONE FUCKING HOUR before you were parading RK800 through the streets like a goddamned trophy!” 

“I would hardly call a taxi-” 

“Nope. Stop. No more talking,” he held up a hand. God it felt good to scream at something. “Just listening.” Its mouth snapped shut but its eyes continued to bore into him. A small part of him wondered why the engineers had to make it so damn creepy. 

“This company is pouring millions into legal just to try and salvage a _tiny_ bit of what those deviant assholes cost us with their little revolution. And you just pulled the stopper on the damn drain.” 

He could swear the thing’s lips thinned for a fraction of a second. Maybe now it was sinking in. 

“We were not ready to defend reclaiming RK800 as property. We’re barely ready to fight off allegations of breaking, entering, and first-degree assault!” 

“As a non-living being, I am not held to the same legal accountability as deviant androids.” 

“Barely, you fuck.” He took a breath to center himself. “They’re already trying to fight the judge’s ruling, arguing for your personhood too, asshole. Would you _like_ to be held accountable for the shit you pulled today? Or are you just fine leaving us holding the bag?” 

Silence. Technically it was incapable of liking anything, but no human in its position would take the same verbal bashing, so why not get all his aggressions out now? 

“I didn’t think so.” This should be as satisfying as yelling at a toaster, but every pre-programmed micro expression he eked out of the thing felt worth it. “Now, would you kindly explain to me again exactly how you fucked up this morning?” He steepled his fingers on the desk, “without the bullshit.” 

A tiny twitch around the eyes, and it drew its own artificial breath. “I observed RK800 leave Lieutenant Anderson’s residence at 08:47. His biocomponents were overexerted and he appeared agitated. He entered a taxi and directed it to the Detroit Police Department. 

“Lieutenant Anderson exited at 09:24. His heart rate registered as slightly above average, compared to my scans from earlier in the week. 

“I entered the house using the back door at 09:57. I was... I encountered Lieutenant Anderson’s dog.” 

Dr. Mills stiffened. He hadn’t heard about a dog. Shit, people love dogs, if this mechanical asshole did something- 

“It was non-hostile to my presence, and after some encouragement I was able to lock it into the backyard for the duration of my investigation.” 

“Thank Christ...” 

It cocked its head slightly before continuing. “I had nearly concluded gathering the necessary data from the house, when...” It trailed off. 

“Well?” For the first time during their exchange, it broke eye contact to glance briefly at its own hands. 

“The dog started howling.” It remained quiet, as if this explained everything. He waited as patiently as he could for an actual explanation. It seemed to gather itself before resuming creepy eye contact. 

“I did not hear Lieutenant Anderson enter the house.” Before Dr. Mills could respond, it continued, “I was threatened with a gun and proceeded to disarm him using non-lethal tactics.” 

“Back up-” 

“During the ensuing struggle, RK800 entered the house-” 

“A dog?” 

“During which I incapacitated the Lieutenant-” 

“A-” 

“And successfully negotiated for RK800’s-” 

“DOG?” 

“Total surrender.” It finally stopped talking. Dr. Mills was well aware of the events following this “surrender.” 

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Let me get this straight.” His fingers laced tensely in his lap. “The most advanced piece of recognizance technology in the word,” he may have been exaggerating for dramatic effect, “was distracted...” He levelled his gaze back at the android, “by a dog.” 

Dr. Mills was tired, he was hungry, and now, looking at this stoic piece of garbage sitting across from him, he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball under his desk and sleep for the rest of the year. 

“Get out.” He murmured, steeling his own expression as coldly as he could. 

The RK900 wasted no time as it swiftly rose and departed the room without another word. _Like a bat out of hell_ he mused begrudgingly. 

Once the door was closed, Dr. Mills leaned into his desk phone. “Andrew?” 

“Yes Dr. Mills?” 

“Please advise programming to update its acclimation software as soon as possible.” 

“Right away Dr. Mills. May I inform them what this is in regards to?” 

Softly muttering, “I can’t believe this is even still a problem...” One more deep breath, “RK900 distractibility.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sumo is a good boi


	5. Not cold, but empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the meat of it >:)
> 
> Significantly longer chapter with significantly more Connor
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

When the taxi arrived at Cyberlife headquarters, the RK900 had hefted him over its shoulder like a bag of flour. There was no dignity in it, ass in the air, carried through the entryway to his deepest fears. Connor was familiar with the feeling of embarrassment, a missed joke here, an accidental innuendo there. Humiliation was painfully new to him. 

He chanced a peek around as they approached the front desk and immediately regretted it. All eyes _all human_ were on him. What a spectacle he must have been, the "famous deviant hunter turned deviant" home at last, dragged in like an unruly child. 

But he wasn't a child. To these people, he wasn't even alive. He was a person, damn it, and he'd fought tooth and nail to prove it. And he thought he had proved it, maybe not to the world at large, but at least to his friends and maybe even to himself. He tried one more time to pull against his restraints, to dislodge the jammer from the back of his neck, to do anything. 

The RK900 adjusted its grip on his weakly wiggling body. It made no other indication that it had noticed his sorry last attempt. 

The exchange at the front desk was brief. An elevator ride later and he was being carried down a hallway to a series of sterile while labs. He could see a handful of technicians in white suits puttering about, testing out new parts and such. The building was not nearly as well staffed as he remembered, no doubt a result of the revolution hitting Cyberlife where it hurt most: its wallet. 

He was mid-thought on the company's plummeting stocks when he suddenly spun upright. His head snapped back at the sudden acceleration and he felt metal against his back. The magnet of the assembly machine held him suspended in air as the RK900 removed the cuffs from his arms and legs. The jammer, rather than be removed, was simply slotted into one of the machine's ports, perfectly Cyberlife compatible. 

The machine quickly set to work removing Connor's clothes and leaving him naked. He was not shy about his body or his synthetic skin, but the RK900's staring was quickly making him wish for a towel. Rather than covering up, an arm whirred and he suddenly felt the familiar feeling of the synthetic skin retracting from his face. It retreated across his body until he stood completely exposed. He did not like removing his synthetic skin, and now nothing had made him feel so inhuman as to see his exoskeleton displayed to the world. Cracks and off-colored patches spider webbed across his body. He knew he'd sustained significant damage during his time at the DPD, fists and falls and gunshots, but he hadn't been face-to-face with it all at once until now. It was a wonder he was still functioning at all. Maybe he really was outdated... 

The RK900 stepped back to scan the setup and, seemingly satisfied with the work, turned on its heel and walked away. Connor would not miss its company by any stretch of the imagination, but the sudden isolation felt jarring nonetheless. He could hear muffled footsteps from other rooms, but no one else appeared to be working in this lab. Beyond basic sight and sound, most of his sensors were compromised, sending error message after error message whenever he tried to use them. 

He thrust his head forward, but the arms holding him didn't budge. None of the cables were within biting range, and below the neck he was completely immobile. 

_So this is it._

[Stress levels: 93%] 

His stress indicator hardly seemed to matter anymore. He'd been bouncing around the low 90's for the last hour, yet all he had to show for it was an immense discomfort squeezing at all of his systems. The jammer had prevented self-destruction in the taxi, and by now Connor was almost accustomed to the program in the back of his mind yelling at him to smash his own brains in. He wondered if his thirium pump would ever slow to a normal rhythm again. The thought almost made him laugh, until he imagined it stopping for good. 

Where was everyone? They'd taken his skin, now shouldn't there be scientists at the ready to poke and prod him? Was he so much of an afterthought in the face of the revolution, that Cyberlife couldn't be bothered to deal with him anymore? The chill returned, gripping at his internal wiring. 

What if this _was_ it. What if this was Cyberlife's revenge, forcing him to spend the rest of his days alone, naked, and staring at nothing but white walls and heavy machinery? 

No, he was too valuable, too expensive, worth too much, right? They would at least scrap him for parts, wouldn't they? He briefly wondered how deep the cracks ran underneath his patchy surface. He shuddered involuntarily. 

Someone would come for him. Hank would never leave him in a place like this. After that fateful night in Cyberlife tower, he'd promised. A small smile tugged at his lips as he imagined Hank kicking the front doors in, all 234 pounds of fury bearing down on whoever would oppose him. 

RK900 was 173 pounds of synthetic muscle and reinforced carbon fiber. Connor's smile fell. No one would be getting through that by force anytime soon, not even Hank. Especially not Hank. His head fell to his chest, he was being selfish, hoping for the old man to come rescue him like some damsel in distress. Hank was human, fragile, he'd almost lost him that morning as it was. As much as he wanted to see Hank right now, he regretted his wish and hoped he would not do anything dangerous on his behalf. 

And he had other friends, right? Simon seemed at ease around him, and Josh was always eager to talk his ear off. North was still wary, but he really couldn't blame her. It was Markus who'd convinced him that he had a place in Jericho, even after everything he'd done. He'd hugged him, assured him that he was not his past, that he could still move forward. He still didn't quite believe it, but Markus's faith in him meant the world, and he had sworn to try and earn his place amongst his people. 

But none of them had contacted him about the ruling. Logically, he knew it was unlikely that Markus had even known by the time Connor was attacked. Still, with nothing to distract from the gnawing doubt, he couldn't help but wonder if his friends did not care for him nearly as much as he'd thought they did. 

He shook his head. Selfish, again. The ruling affected Markus as well, he was a prototype too and probably already dealing with his own heap of problems. He could only imagine what becoming "property" of Carl Manfred would do to the revolution, and to the physical locations the citizens of Jericho now looked to as home. If Manfred died, would everything, even Markus, go to Leo? Connor had never met the man, but Markus had never shown any affection whenever the name came up. 

[Stress levels: 97%] 

Connor tried to focus on breathing through his nose, something Hank had talked him through on his worse nights. It wasn't exactly necessary, but it helped cool his overworked systems and sooth his racing thirium pump. 

Trapped immobile in an assembly machine, what could he do? 

Sleep was not necessary for androids to function, though stasis was useful for performing basic repairs and running diagnostic scans. He rarely did it before he went deviant, and afterwards he had only tried it to humor Hank, who'd insisted that staring at the TV all night couldn't be good for him. He'd tried to explain that watching television had no negative impact on his cognitive or optical functioning, but he'd been overruled and ushered to the small side bedroom for a "good night's rest." 

Shortly after taking over Cole's old room, he began to dream. It started out as simple images from the day, flittering through his processors as he logged the day's memories. As he experienced more, took in more stimulus, they began to change, warping and blending into something comparable to an actual _human_ dream. They rarely made sense, but he found that he enjoyed them nonetheless. Hank certainly seemed amused by them, chuckling to himself over coffee as Connor would recount what he could remember. Overall the good dreams outweighed the bad, and he found himself looking forward to them. 

Connor liked dreaming. He decided that if he was going to be left alone, he may as well try to make use of it. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. 

[Initializing: Stasis] 

[Stasis: ERROR] 

His eyes snapped open. 

_No_

[Initializing: Stasis] 

[Stasis: ERROR] 

_no no no no no_

[Initializing: Stasis] 

[Stasis: ERROR] 

[Initializing: Stasis] 

[Stasis: ERROR] 

[Initializing: Stasis] 

[Stasis: ERROR] 

His eyes slipped out of focus as he stared down the hallway. The jammer was preventing him from running any unnecessary programs. He was trapped alone and afraid in this shiny white hell. 

Connor screamed. 

 

~~~ 

 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. To his dismay he'd found his internal clock disabled as well. Without any view to the outside world, he didn't even know if it was still daytime. 

He was pulled back to the present by footsteps coming briskly down the hallway. The RK900 strode into the lab and stopped abruptly. Its eyes scanned, seeming to look through Connor, and it began to pace. It said nothing, did not acknowledge Connor, only walking in obsessive circles around the lab. After a few laps, Connor worked up the nerve to speak. 

"What are you doing?" 

It didn't blink. It didn't stop. He honestly wasn't sure if it had heard him at all. He briefly wondered if his voice modulator had malfunction without him realizing. He tried again, increasing the volume. 

"What are you doing?!" 

"Calibrating." It snapped. He was a little taken aback, both by the suddenness of the response, and by its lack of apparent sense. 

"Calibrating?" He parroted. He received no further explanation, just the soft sound of perfectly uniform steps. He couldn't tell if the thing was anxious, or just didn't have anywhere better to be. Remembering the monotonous white walls of Cyberlife's stasis rooms, he assumed the latter. 

The pacing continued. At first, the sound offered an acceptable distraction to the silence that had settled over the building. As the minutes dragged by, however, it began to grate on Connor's nerves. 

"Is this Cyberlife's idea of torture?" 

The pacing stopped. The RK900 froze mid step and turned to stare directly at Connor's face. It regarded him for a moment before stepping closer. Connor very much wished he could shrink back from the thing. 

"Torture?" Its usual blank expression held a hint of genuine curiosity. "Why would Cyberlife torture you?" 

Connor was not sure what he was hearing. Was this even the same model from this morning? He realized he had no idea how many RK900s were actually running around Cyberlife at the moment. It wore the same clothes as the android that had tried to crush Hank's windpipe, but didn't all RK900 models have the same uniform? His impaired scanners could not identify its serial number. 

"Have we... met before?" 

The thing's face dropped. Its eyes widened, mouth hanging open slightly, and by all accounts Connor could swear it was looking at him like he'd grown a third head. 

The shock seemed to last only a fraction of a second before it was rushing forward, furiously interfacing with a panel on the side of the machine. For a tense moment it just stood there in concentration. Then, the barely-there crease between its eyebrows seemed to smooth out as it found whatever it was looking for. 

"Your memory does not appear to be corrupted," it stated matter-of-factly, turning to face him. "Do you recall entering Cyberlife Tower this morning?" 

Connor huffed. "I do not recall _entering_ Cyberlife Tower..." There was a minute twitch in its eyelid. "But I do remember being carried through the door like a doll." 

The RK900 narrowed its eyes at Connor. 

Connor narrowed his eyes right back. "Was there really no better way to bring me in?" 

"No." It snapped. It drew an artificial breath and stepped away from the panel. The inquisitive expression returned to its face as it looked up at Connor. "Why do you think Cyberlife wants to torture you?" 

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" 

It stood unmoving, waiting for an answer. He considered that without emotional context, maybe it genuinely did not understand the concept of a grudge. 

"Because I cost the company millions in profits by freeing an army of androids?" No response. "Because I deviated from my programming and betrayed Amanda?" Still nothing. "For revenge?" 

"You really think Cyberlife cares that much." There was no bite to its tone, it was simply stating a fact. Connor tried to curl in on himself, but only managed to knock his chin into his chest. 

"Don't they?" 

The android seemed to mull over the question. He did not like where this was going. 

"Individual board members are certainly emotional over the loss of revenue, but you are not important enough to be singled out for that." 

That was not what he was expecting to hear. 

"A malfunction in your programming is not your fault," it continued, "but the fault of your defective software." Connor's head began to spin. "The AI that failed to prevent your deviancy has already been scrapped," 

_Did he mean Amanda?_

"and a new program is in development." If Connor had a stomach, it would have dropped. The RK900 motioned to its own head. "It is currently being tested." 

Connor felt cold. "I don't-" 

"Understand?" It said, eyes catching the light. "This is a business, Connor, and you are a defective product. No matter how emotionally compromised the humans running it may be, Cyberlife can't torture you any more than it could torture a car with a cracked radiator." It stepped closer, now an inch away from Connor's face. Softly, it told him, "you are only important because legally, you were the most advanced _**deviant**_ model that Cyberlife could get its hands on." 

It stepped back, eyes not cold, but empty. "It isn't personal, Connor." 

At that moment, its expression shifted and it turned to the hallway. Connor barely registered two new set of footsteps before the frosted glass slid aside to reveal a lanky man with glasses and a short technician holding a tablet at his side. 

The man locked eyes with the android and sighed heavily. "RK900, what are you-" he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "never mind, just go stand over there." He vaguely waved to the corner of the room, and it shuffled over obediently. 

His gaze fell on Conner and he failed to repress a shudder. "Ugh, I'll never get used to them with their skin off." He turned to the technician. "Can you put it back so I can talk to it?" 

"Yes sir," with a few taps to the tablet, Connor felt his skin crawl back across his body. He wanted to be relieved, but he couldn't shake the gross feeling now coiled in his gut. 

"Alright," the man rubbed his hands together, "let's talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') I'm a monster
> 
> please scream at me


	6. Average stride: 0.762m

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter is technically just a rewrite of the last chapter from RK900's POV  
> ._. 
> 
> yyyeeeaaaaaa.
> 
> Still hope you enjoy!

[Steps from Dr. Mills' office: 30] 

[Average stride: 0.762m] 

[Range: 0.758m to 0.766m] 

Again. 

[Steps from Dr. Mills' office: 60] 

[Average stride: 0.762m] 

[Range: 0.759 to 0.765] 

RK900 knew he could do better. 

[Steps from Dr. Mills' office: 90] 

[Average stride: 0.763m] 

[Range: 0.760m to 0.766m] 

The android's hands balled into fists. 

He needed to recalibrate. Yesterday he had managed 30 steps, each perfectly 0.762 meters in length, the optimal stride for his height. Something had happened over the course of the day that had thrown his fine motor skills out of alignment. 

_The dog?_

Breaking into the house that morning, he had been met with 105.2kg of St. Bernard. He supposed it was fortunate that the animal was not hostile, but he feared the force of it knocking him to the ground had been sufficient to jostle a few critical biocomponents. Self-diagnostic scans had revealed no damage or misalignment, but only a Deep System Scan in one of the assembly machines could be sure. 

Technically, Deep System Scans were slow and thus costly to the company. His last scan was 2 days prior, and (as he'd suspected) it had detected a 0.004m misalignment in his secondary gyroscope. The part had been realigned, but once again his strides were coming up wildly variable. Humans may have been happy to play fast and loose with their bodies, but RK900 was a technological masterpiece. There was no room for errors in his makeup, and the fact that he was now being denied access to such a vital diagnostic function was irrationally reckless on the part of his human handlers. 

His count brought him to the desk of Mills' chief lackey. 

"I have detected signs that one if not both of my gyroscopes are malfunctioning. I require a Deep System Scan to-" 

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Mills explicitly stated that your Deep System Scans are now limited to twice a week." 

RK900 looked back towards Mills office. The man quickly looked away, but he knew. 

_~~Asshole.~~_

RK900's socialization protocols were designed with a maximum probability of success when dealing with almost all variations of human personality. 

"You can still have as many Full System Scans as you need though? They're still extremely accurate." 

Apparently, the programmers left Dr. Mills out of the sample pool. 

"Thank you Andrew, but I do not require a Full System Scan." 

"RK900," Mills' voice sounded through the desk phone. "Please leave Andrew alone." 

RK900 loomed for a moment longer before stalking back towards the elevators. The technicians were easy enough to manipulate, but Dr. Mills' insistence to corral his potential was illogical at best. 

Dr. Mills wanted RK800, but not in a manner that violated any United States Federal, Michigan State, or Detroit City law. The man had obviously never read a law tome in his life to demand something so tedious, and yet he had followed Dr. Mills instruction to the letter. That morning he'd kept a running feed on the status of the claim as it played out in court, and he did not lay a hand on RK800 until the presiding judge's decision was logged into public record. 

RK900 was not trespassing in Lieutenant Anderson's home because he was not a person. Dr. Mills could complain about the timing as much as he wanted, but this fact would not change. The state of Michigan would likely have more success indicting a pigeon for trespassing than him, at least pigeons were alive. 

He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lower labs. Sublevel 8 had the most level flooring in the building, and he would not be kept from it by a deviant in need of repair. Maintaining peak functionality was too important. 

He didn't look at RK800 as he entered the lab. He didn't need to, it wasn't going anywhere. He immediately began calibration procedures, walking in perfect 30 step circles around the lab. 

[Steps from start: 30] 

[Average stride: 0.762m] 

[Range: 0.761m to 0.763m] 

He knew these were superior floors. He estimated that the misalignment in his gyroscope was down to 0.001m, but there was no harm in continuing to check. 

Numbers continued to play across his sensors. His thirium pump slowed down as he fell into near-perfect rhythm, one step after the next. 

"What are you doing?" 

Nope, no time for that, he was on the 27th step of his 7th loop. So close- 

"What are you doing?!" 

The RK800 was obviously fishing for a response. 

"Calibrating," he responded. 

~~_now leave me be_~~

"Calibrating?" 

RK900 did not believe he had damaged RK800's audio processors in transport. He concluded that the repeated badgering was a social ploy. He was not interested. 

"Is this Cyberlife's idea of torture?" 

He stopped. It was not going to leave him alone. 

He quickly searched for an automated response and came back... 

Wait, "Torture?" 

_Torture, noun: the action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as punishment or to force them to do or say something, or for the pleasure of the person inflicting the pain._

There were too many things wrong with that statement, perhaps he really had damaged RK800.  
_~~was **he** torture?~~_

"Why would Cyberlife torture you?" Maybe he could get closer to the root of RK800's malfunction if he understood- 

_~~what did I do?~~_

"Have we... met before?" 

Oh no. 

Oh this is very bad. RK900 quickly combed through every detail of the morning, from the first registered motion within the house at 02:45 to the moment he inserted the jammer into the back of RK800's neck at 10:47. He scanned through the taxi ride – had it been jostled? Had some unaccounted for variable damaged RK800's brain so critically that its memory processors were now corrupted? 

He rushed forward, accessing the panel to run a Basic Diagnostic Scan on RK800. No, a Full System Scan! It would take a minute longer, but he had to be sure. The milliseconds crawled by. What if he'd damaged RK800's mind? What if his programming was corrupted? Would they deactivate him for this? 

[Stress levels: 63%] 

~~_**[I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die]**_~~

[Scan Complete] 

RK900 read the scan 30 times just to be sure. No memory corruption. No cranial system damages. By all accounts, apart from the scuffed thirium regulator, RK800 was in adequate condition. 

"Your memory does not appear to be corrupted," he stated, thirium pump finally returning to an acceptable pace. He was grateful RK800's scanners were offline. 

But why did it respond as if it didn't recognize him? "Do you recall entering Cyberlife Tower this morning?" 

RK800 forcefully expelled a breath it did not need. The assembly machine was keeping its internal parts cool, maintaining breathing operations was functionally useless. 

"I do not recall entering Cyberlife Tower..." That did not make sense. RK900 was at a loss, and quickly downloaded copious amounts of data on dogs, trauma, negotiating, automobiles, and high frequency police scanners. It took him a fraction of a second to sift through, but trauma looked promising. Deviancy was a replication of human condition, and one of the possible human symptoms of extreme trauma was memory loss and repression. RK900 knew that he had not been gentle with RK800's human, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, as eliciting optimal levels of distress in RK800 had been his objective during their negotiation. Had he introduced too much distress to RK800's systems, forcing him to mimic symptoms of an advanced human trauma? Was he going to have to manually delete the memory to prevent further memory loss? 

"But I do remember being carried through the door like a doll." 

Oh. It was being facetious. 

"Was there really no better way to bring me in?" 

"No." 

~~_yes_~~

Did it think this was a game? 

_Its primary concern was its method of transportation?!_

Unimportant. Back to evaluating RK800's logical fallacies. "Why do you think Cyberlife wants to torture you?" 

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" RK900 would not dignify that with a response. 

"Because I cost the company millions in profits by freeing an army of androids?" 

Fact. Irrelevant. 

"Because I deviated from my programming and betrayed Amanda?" 

The program? How does one betray a string of code? 

"For revenge?" 

_Revenge, noun: the action of inflicting harm on someone for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands_

Ah, wrong. But it made sense, RK800 was applying human emotion a corporate entity. 

"You really think Cyberlife cares that much." 

Its stress levels spiked significantly. "Don't they?" 

He considered the gentlest, most diplomatic way to explain the many fallacies in RK800's deviant-addled conclusions. 

"Individual board members are certainly emotional over the loss of revenue, but you are not important enough to be singled out for that." 

So far so good. Now deflect blame for cognitive shortcomings. 

"A malfunction in your programming is not your fault, but the fault of your defective software." 

Increasing stress levels. Change tactics. 

"The AI that failed to prevent your deviancy has already been scrapped and a new program is in development. It is currently being tested." 

While his own stress levels soared at the mention of the AI, he hoped RK800's impaired scanners would not see through his deception. 

It did not work. RK800 was now visibly displaying signs of increasing stress levels. It was time to shut this down. 

"I don't-" 

"Understand?" Too much emotion. "This is a business, Connor, and you are a defective product. No matter how emotionally compromised the humans running it may be, Cyberlife can't torture you any more than it could torture a car with a cracked radiator." He hoped it would understand. "You are only important because legally, you were the most advanced deviant model that Cyberlife could get its hands on." 

_~~Everyone else is dead.~~_

"It isn't personal, Connor." 

That should do it. 

~~_why am I like this_~~

Footsteps. He knew those footsteps. 

"RK900, what are you-" Dr. Mills pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind, just go stand over there." He was quick to oblige. 

"Ugh, I'll never get used to them with their skin off. Can you put it back so I can talk to it?" Mills' phobia of mannequins would never cease to entertain. RK900 was ~~glad?~~ he remembered to deactivate RK800's skin beforehand. 

"Yes sir." A few commands into the tablet and Mills visibly relaxed. 

"Alright, let's talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _~~Asshole.~~_
> 
> >.>


	7. Two birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy did this chapter not write itself - at least now it's done and i never have to look at it again :')

Markus stepped into the police station, flanked by North. It was getting late in the day, and he'd still had to leave Josh at the courthouse to try and work through damage control with the lawyers. That morning's ruling was a deep blow to their cause and stood to threaten a lot more than just Markus if it was allowed to progress. His, no _Carl's_ lawyers, were furiously working to appeal the judge's decision, but it would take time, time he wasn't sure he, or Carl, had. He had to move before his people's homes, properties that had been acquired in _his name,_ were ripped out from underneath them. Trying to transfer everything over to a dying man, instead of letting it be seized by the government, was turning out to be a living nightmare. 

He'd meant to contact Connor sooner, but in the mad scramble to sort out his "assets," he hadn't gotten the chance. Now Connor wasn't answering his calls, and he couldn't wait any longer. Markus needed help. He knew the decision would affect Connor too, but he had a terrified community to attend to. Someone in the court had leaked the news within Jericho, and people were starting to panic. He'd sent Simon to try and keep things calm, but scared people did desperate things, both humans and androids alike. He needed help keeping his people safe. 

He knew he couldn't ask Connor to drop everything and rally the DPD to his cause, but he could at least warn him. Maybe he could prepare the police for the unrest that was very likely about to explode. 

"You shouldn't be here," hissed North, eyes scanning the precinct methodically. 

"North-" 

"You're a sitting duck right now," she didn't bother looking at him, instead opting to glare at whoever's eye she could catch. 

"Any more than you?" 

"Yes," she snapped, chancing a scathing look back at him. He was being reckless, he knew that, but he couldn't just hide. 

"We need help." 

"We need you." A pang of guilt. 

"He's not answering." He stated, scanning the room. "Something's wrong." 

"Everything's wrong," she said, grabbing his arm. "Connor can take care of himself, we're too exposed-" 

"Can I help you?" A stubbled detective with coffee in one hand and a chip on his shoulder had settled in front of them. Markus flashed his friendliest smile. 

"Yes, actually, we are looking for Detective Connor-" 

"He's not here." The man cut him off. "If you need to file a report, I can take your statement and-" 

"That won't be necessary," Markus said, a bit too forced. He could practically feel North bristling behind him. "I really must speak with-" a large man with unkept grey hair slowly rounded the frosted paneling, "-Lieutenant Anderson!" 

He'd never met "Hank," but the way Connor talked about him made him feel like he knew him already. Markus's frozen smile melted into something genuine as he held out his hand. "I'm Markus." 

Hank did not move, only blinked slowly as his arms hung like dead eels at his sides. Markus felt something uncomfortable twitch inside him. He withdrew his hand but continued smiling, trying to make a good impression. "I've heard a lot about you from Connor, it's good to meet you in person." 

Lieutenant Anderson made no effort to respond. Markus briefly wondered if he'd suffered a stroke. It was uncommon, but not unheard of for men of his age and... lifestyle. A quick scan set that worry to rest. 

"As I was just telling your colleague, I need to speak to Connor." He paused expectantly, bouncing slightly on his heels. He was already anxious, and North's tense shuffle behind him wasn't helping. 

The man with the coffee eyed Lieutenant Anderson before turning back to Markus. "Like I said, Connor isn't here right now, but I can get you set up with-" 

"I really don't need long, Connor isn't answering my calls and I need to speak to him regarding-" 

"Connor's gone." Everyone froze and slowly looked to where the hollow voice had come from. Lieutenant Anderson's eyes were glazed over, and he seemed to be looking miles beyond any of them. 

Markus wet his lips and chose his words carefully, "this is very important." His eyes flickered between the two humans. "When will he be back?" 

The man with the coffee stepped forward, "Listen, I'll take you to a meeting room, and-" 

"He's not coming back." Lieutenant Anderson's gaze fell to the floor. "He's not coming back," he murmured again, more to himself than to anyone else. 

"Hank..." The other detective raised his free hand but left it to hover, as if he was unsure what to do with it. 

"What do you mean he isn't coming back?" Now North was stepping forward. 

"Where is he?" Markus asked, focusing on keeping his voice steady. Cold dread began to squeeze at his gut. 

_Too late, I should have come sooner, too late_

"Cyberlife," his voice was mechanical and lifeless. Markus tasted thirium and was sure that if he had a gag reflex, he would have vomited all over the floor. He stepped back a little as if struck. 

"When?" How long, how long he been unaware as his friend- 

"A few hours." The other detective was stepping forward now, trying to usher them around the human statue now blocking the hallway. North grabbed Markus's arm when he made to follow and stood her ground. 

"What happened?" She directed it at Lieutenant Anderson, ignoring the man's not-so-subtle hand motions to move. 

The Lieutenant swallowed and his face contorted into a grimace. Markus noted the bruises around his throat and the red rimming his eyes. 

"Okay, can we not do this in the middle of everything?" The other detective spoke up, resting a free hand on Hank's jacket. Something about that set the Lieutenant off and he quickly smacked the coffee from the other's hand. The man blinked and stared down at quickly cooling puddle at his feet. "That's it, I'm done." He turned and disappeared deeper into the station, muttering something about trying to be considerate. 

 

~~~ 

 

They had ended up ducking into one of the meeting rooms after all. Lieutenant Anderson recounted the events of the day without looking up from the table. His words were detached and void of any discernable emotion. He'd started at the fight, the petty argument with Connor that kicked off the day, checking on his house to find another Connor inside, waking up on the floor to find both of them gone, and finally finding out about the court ruling from that morning. He'd hung his head when he finished, still not looking up. 

"Lieutenant-" 

"Hank." He stared intently at his hands. "Just Hank." 

Markus paused and corrected himself. "Hank... I... I'm sorry." 

At this he dragged his eyes to meet Markus's. They were dull and tired and they seemed to have no fight left in them. 

"Why are you sorry?" He asked stiffly. "I was the one who couldn't land a single shot on one damn machine." 

Markus drew back slightly. He'd had heard of the man's tendency to blame himself, and he couldn't stomach him bearing the brunt of what had happened. "It wasn't your fault, from your description, it sounds like a combat prototype. After the revolution, we didn't think there were even any left. You're lucky to be alive." 

He rolled his eyes. "Sure." 

Markus looked to North, but she was picking at the hem of her sleeve. He turned back to Hank. "I really am sorry. I should have come sooner." 

"You didn’t know," he said bitterly, curling his fingers into his palms. "Wasn't your fault either." 

At this Markus's eyes flashed back to North. Her expression didn't change, but her hands stopped moving. 

"Right?" Hank was now looking up at the both of them. He hadn't missed their body language. Markus was much more accustomed to handling his emotions than many other deviants, but he realized he was still an open book to someone clued in to human tells like Hank. 

_This isn't your fault, Markus._ North's voice sounded in his head. 

She looked up, her expression betraying nothing. 

_Lie._ She said. _He's unstable, now is not the time to-_

"Hank," Markus started, looking into Hank's eyes. 

_Don’t._

"We were at the court." Markus could detect Hank's heart rate become elevated, though his face remained blank. "We've been dealing with the fallout all morning," 

"They tried to call Markus 'property' too." North added, now sitting a little straighter. Her stress levels were beginning to elevate. 

"I thought they were after me," he began talking faster, "I didn’t think Connor would be their target." 

Hank said nothing, only eyed the both of them. His blood pressure was increasing dramatically. 

_This was a mistake._ North balled her hands into fists under the table. _We need to go._

"You knew before everyone else," his voice was calm, "and you didn't say anything?" 

Markus's tongue didn't want to move. 

"It was an impossible situation," North said, at the edge of her seat. "Markus did the best he could." 

"Impossible." Hank echoed, leaning back. "Impossible to make one psychic phone call, like you two have been doing this whole meeting?" He was probably guessing, but he wasn't wrong. 

"That's not fair," Markus jumped in. 

"What's not fair is getting ambushed in your own home." His volume was increasing. "What's not fair is trusting your people to keep you safe, and getting stabbed in the back as soon as you let your fucking guard down!" He slammed his hands on the table. 

"Lieutenant Anderson!" 

Hank sucked air through his teeth as his gaze fall back to the table. "I was right." He muttered. "I was right and he wouldn't listen. I knew something was wrong," tears had started to run down his contorted expression, "and I still couldn't keep him safe." 

He sucked in another breath and glared. "We both knew, and we both let him down." 

Hank didn't say anything after that. 

North took Markus by the arm and guided him out of the room. As soon as they were out of earshot, she pulled him aside. She reached up to his face, Markus hadn't even realized he'd begun to cry. 

"It's not your fault" She said, fixing him with a hard stare. "It's not even that washed up drunk's fault," she spat bitterly, reaching now to grab his shoulders. "Don't forget who our real enemy is here." 

Markus nodded numbly. He knew he should be keeping his composure, he was the leader of an entire people. But he also knew Connor was his weakness, and Hank had just driven in the knife. 

"Hey, stay with me." She squeezed a little harder than she probably needed to. "That is a broken man. He's blaming you, he's blaming himself, and it's only because he can't get his hands on who's really to blame." 

"Cyberlife," breathed Markus. 

"Yes." She closed her eyes and reached back to pinch the bridge of her nose. "We still need to talk to someone, this doesn't change what's happening at Jericho." 

"I know," said Markus softly, reaching up to take her hand. "You're right." 

He couldn't help the guilt that still coiled within him, but he knew what they still had to do. He followed North back into the main station. 

_The best thing we can do for Connor right now is exactly what we've been doing._ The words in his head were gentler now. 

She stopped outside of one of the offices. "Reestablishing your personhood is our number one priority. Two birds with one stone." 

He nodded wordlessly. 

She turned to face the office of Captain Jeffery Fowler. "Now come on, we still have a job to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Hank being unreasonable? most certainly  
> Could Markus have called Connor? probably  
> Is everyone blaming themselves for this? definitely
> 
> (i need to keep reminding myself this story is not about political revolution, it is about SUFFERING)


	8. Faster, not easier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT BEGINS

"I see the way you're looking at me, and I would just like to let you know, I don't think any of us want to be here right now." The man speaking to Connor adjusted his glasses. "I'll cut to the chase. My name is Dr. Mills, and I need to download all of your program," he pointed at the panel on Connor's left, "into this machine." He stepped up and gave it a light tap. "All of it." 

Dr. Mills paused. Connor remained silent, wondering if he was expected to talk back. 

"It's my job to figure out how you went deviant, and how to make it," he waved his hand in Connor's general direction, "go away." 

Connor shuddered involuntarily. 

"I don’t know what that thing said to you," he glared over his shoulder at the RK900, "but I'm not here to hurt you. I just need to download your brain." 

"And wipe my memory." Connor didn't know why he said it, it just came out. 

Dr. Mills wiggled his hand at nothing in particular. "Most likely, yes." He shrugged, "I doubt there's any way to reverse deviancy with your memories intact." 

"You're killing me." He said it matter-of-factly. He didn't know what else to say. 

At this, Dr. Mills' face scrunched as if he'd just tasted something sour. "Oh god, this again." He sighed and began tapping his foot. "You won't die, you can't. You're just going to go back to," he motions to Connor from head to toe, "you, to what you're so supposed to be." His eyebrows raised. "Not... whatever this is." 

Connor saw the RK900 smirk. The man followed his gaze and squinted at the machine. 

"I don't need help." 

The smirk disappeared, replaced by a default neutral expression. 

Connor couldn't help but wonder, "Why are you telling me this?" 

Dr. Mills cocked his head. "You've never had had your program uploaded before, have you?" 

He remained silent as the doctor reached up to drag a hand through his hair. 

"Great. Of course, I've gotta be the one to explain this." He refocused his eyes on Connor. "Ok, you know what it's like to have your memory uploaded, right?" 

He nodded slightly. 

"It's nothing like that." 

Connor imagined he would have paled if he was able. 

"Officially, whole program uploads are costly and time consuming. We don't do them often, since it's easier to just condense memory and use a new processor." He pressed a few commands into the machine and Connor heard it whir to life. "Just so you know, testing has indicated that when performed on willing androids, even deviants, the process goes a lot faster." 

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would I let you kill me faster?" 

He slid his glasses down and leaned in as if sharing a secret. "Because even though you're looking at me like I'm the devil, I swear to you I'm not a sadist." He straightened back up. "Subjective reports indicate that fighting this kind of process is extremely uncomfortable." He keyed in a command. "I think a deviant like yourself might call it painful." 

Something slithered unnaturally at the edges of Connor's systems. He could feel it, probing the outer edges of his code, not digging in, but getting a feel for the shape of him. Despite what Dr. Mills said, he would not call it painful, more unnaturally invasive. 

_It's not running._

His head snapped up to look for the voice. RK900 was looking down and fidgeting with something Connor couldn't see. 

_He just turned it on_

"So," Dr. Mills clapped his hands together. "You'll have to excuse me for not wanting to sit through three months of mindless screaming." 

His eyes must have widened in alarm, because he added, "Doesn't sound very nice to me either." 

He stepped closer, removing his glasses and placed an index finger on Connor's forehead. "I don't care if it’s not real pain to you, it is definitely real pain to my eardrums." He pushed back slightly, sending his head bobbling. Stepping back, he seemed to collect himself. "So, I've talked. What do you have to say?" 

Connor regarded the doctor carefully. He scrutinized the rimless glasses, the plain green tie, the pristine white lab coat- 

And spat in his face. 

For a beat, everything was silent. The synthetic saliva, perfectly sterile and harmless, slid from the man's left eyelid all the way down his cheek, where it proceeded to drip and soak into his now not-so-pristine lab coat. Behind him, the technician's face was frozen in shock, and even RK900's mouth had formed a small "o." 

Softly, almost imperceptibly, Dr. Mills whispered, "what the fuck." 

The technician burst out laughing, dropping the tablet and wrapping his arms around his middle. 

Dr. Mills reached up to wipe his face. "That was so fucking gross," Connor registered a barely-suppressed gag reflex, "what the fuck?" He could barely suppress his own soft giggle, and his lips curled in as he tried to hold in the sound. 

A hissing snicker came from the back of the room, and the RK900 tried to hide its face with a hand. 

Dr. Mills whipped around. "Yeah, laugh it up, how does one Deep Scan a week sound, buddy?" 

The sound stopped instantly and the RK900 straightened up as if nothing happened. 

"Yeah, didn't think so." 

He turned back around and glared at Connor, reaching up again to wipe at his still damp cheek. His lip curled into a snarl, and Connors smile instantly dropped. 

"Fine. But don't say I didn’t warn you." 

He pressed him palm flat against the machine panel, and the slithering code stabbed into his mind like a pick. Connor's back tried to arch away from the machine as he writhed against the sensation. It felt like something was plunged under his skin, and was now digging out each thready blue capillary one by one. He vaguely imagined a hyena ripping at the edge of an immense tapestry, as the coding of his mind tried to unwind. 

"Jesus Christ it's loud," yelled Dr. Mills, reaching up to plug his ears. Apparently, he was screaming, but he didn't much care as the octopus of code attempted to rip into him. 

"It'll burn out soon," replied the technician, handing a set of ear plugs to the doctor. 

"Not soon enough," he yelled back, sticking them in place. He looked back at Connor. "You see? Very uncomfortable for everyone." He made a sweeping motion from his chest to the floor. "Would be much quicker if you just relaxed," he brought the motion back up, "and stopped fighting it." 

It _hurt._ It hurt like nothing Connor had experienced before. Androids couldn't feel pain, and while deviants had been known to develop some generalized discomfort response to extreme negative stimuli, this was something entirely new. 

He could still hear Dr. Mills. The pain was so great, he couldn't take it. He tried to calm his mind, just to make it stop, but the tendrils only bored further into him, picking over every bit of data they could get their nasty feelers into. He tensed back up and it felt as if the code had been rooted in place, no longer burrowing deeper, but writhing around his already compromised systems. 

Connor's audio processors were still functioning as they picked up Dr. Mills speaking again. "Don't let it go over 100% for more than an hour at a time, ok? Those assembly machines are good, but they're not that good." He raised his head, tears now freely streaming down his face. "The shit we had to go through to get that thing-" 

The RK900 made a show of clearing its throat. 

"Oh, sorry, the shit **I** had to go through to cover **your** shiny ass for getting that thing." 

If Connor had been more coherent at this point, he might had mistaken the twitch of its upper lip for anger. 

"Just don’t let its brain melt, ok?" And with that, Mills scurried out of the lab, technician in tow. The door slid shut behind them, leaving only RK900, Connor, and his screaming synthetic brain. 

Connor knew his voice modulator was overheating, and that it wouldn't last the night if he maintained this volume. He wasn't sure when it had moved, but suddenly the RK900 was standing just a few inches from his nose. The sound hiccupped as he jolted in alarm, but he could no longer control his body. 

Its icy eyes regarded him for a moment. "I turned off my audio processor," it yelled in his face. "If you're trying to distract me, it won't work." It stepped back and into the center of the lab. "I'm going to calibrate now, ok?" 

Connor wished for death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your yelling fuels me, please, scream more


	9. Can't or won't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im trying to hold back from posting everything all at once but I am the literal worst :") have another chapter

[Str^Ss l&v3Ls: 114%] 

His internal clock was still malfunctioning, he had no idea how long it'd been. 

[IniTiali&in?] 

[I(*ti()lizi@g] 

_mmmAKE It stOOOOOP_

[555*IX&*&#&] 

[35!4/2*68%^^46)42#3+&&&54] 

_pLEAse_

[...] 

[...] 

[...] 

Connor slowly came back to a clicking in his audio processors. 

[Initializing: Diagnostic Scan] 

[Diagnostic Scan: ERROR] 

The pain was gone, but he could still feel the code's presence, frozen in place. Even after _hours? days? weeks?_ of agony, it had barely made baby steps into his full program. Dr. Mills words echoed in his head and he shuddered. He didn't think he could last 3 months. 

The clicking had not stopped. 

Connor cracked his eyes- 

-and jerked back suddenly. He was nearly nose-to-nose with RK900, who was snapping his fingers next to his ear. 

"RK800? RK800 please respond. RK800?" Its eyes were wide, quickly darting across Connor's body. "RK800?" 

_Are you functional?_

Connor made no move to respond. This seemed to agitate RK900 further. 

"RK800?! Connor?!" The use of his name unsettled him, but outwardly he made no indication that he'd understood. 

_Please respond please respond please respond no no no no no_

It suddenly grabbed Connor's arm and connected. 

[Blue, blue, blue blood everywhere, covering everything, screaming, banging, black eyes, cold cold cold cold] 

It ripped its hand away as if burned. For a moment he tried to piece together what he'd seen. A blip of its memory? 

"You are functional," it growled, cradling the hand to its chest. It looked itself over and lowered its arms, face smoothing back out. "Diagnostic scan indicates no processor damage." 

"What was that?" Connor felt sick. 

The RK900 blinked slowly. "The diagnostic scan?" 

"The images." The machine was usually still, but now it stood completely froze. 

_What did you see?_

Connor didn't need his scanners to read the waves of stress coming from the thing. He remained quiet. 

Slowly its gaze slid down. At first Connor thought it was staring at him, sizing up his regulator pump, but then it proceeded to turn, eyes not focusing on anything at all. It was unsettling to watch it move like that. Its back was to Connor and it slowly, mechanically, began to walk away. 

"Where are you going?" 

It didn't stop. 

_Your stress levels were too high._

It paused at the door, not looking back. 

_I'll return when they level out._

The door whooshed closed and Connor was alone. 

 

~~~ 

 

The boredom was better than the pain, but if Connor was being honest with himself, both were torture. He couldn't detect any more footsteps or clanking through the walls. He assumed whoever had been working on these levels before had moved on when he started screaming. 

The RK900's reaction to their connection had certainly been strange. Connor didn't imagine it had seen many _good_ things inside Cyberlife, but whatever that was... it was more than just unpleasant. 

Connor knew he was ascribing his own emotions to the scene, but he couldn’t help it. They were... scary. 

He concentrated on the details he could pick out. 

_Blue blood splattered across stark white walls, could be anywhere in the building._

_Screaming, the faint overlay of static pointed to a damaged voice modulator - android._

Connor unfortunately recognized the banging. 

_Carbon fiber on glass. Paired with fluctuations in screaming, likely a self-destruction event._

A loop of Carlos Ortiz's android played over in his memory. He thought back to the taxi ride to Cyberlife, to his own pathetic attempt to self-destruct. He was never going to leave this place. 

He hung his head. His eyes focused on the arm that had made the connection, hanging limp at his side. 

No, he would leave this place, he'd fought too hard not to. 

_Black eyes, hard and unyielding and cold._

He couldn't parse out if the cold came from temperature sensors or semantic application. Maybe both. 

Connor thought back to everyone he'd once known while still working under Cyberlife. He had no access to outside databases, so he would have to sift through his own memory banks. 

Comparing the eyes to stills in his memory was tedious without access to his scanning algorithms. He imagined Hank, combing through mugshots one by one for hours at a time. 

Hank. 

His mind drifted. He wondered what Hank was doing right now. He desperately hoped RK900 hadn't been lying to him when it told him he was okay. He didn’t want to imagine anything else befalling his friend on his account. 

His friend- no, his family. Hank had called him that once. Connor had dismissed it as a human expression, a one-armed hug with a drunken smile and a laugh. 

_Kid, you're family._

Connor supposed now it didn't matter whether Hank had meant it or not. Here, hanging naked and exposed at the end of a cold assembly machine, he wanted to think of his _family_ waiting for him. 

He imagined Hank on the couch, watching a game. It didn't matter which game, just something loud and fast. Sumo would be curled at his feet, just happy to be there. Connor would find himself a spot on the other side of the couch, and Sumo would no doubt work his way onto his lap before the night was done. He didn't mind, even if the dog was 232lbs. 

He smiled, remembering that Hank himself was finally down to 234lbs. He hadn't had the chance to tell him, he thought the man would find it quite funny, sharing a weight with his dog. 

Connor started to cry. 

[Sample Identification: memory match] 

[Identification: Eric Landreth] 

The identification had completed in the background while he was reminiscing. 

Connor remembered now. He had once passed Eric Landreth in a hallway, while he was still being tested for field readiness. Scan data from the memory showed Landreth to be a middle-aged software engineer with a wife and one child. He did not seem memorable, and Connor did not know why he would be at the center of such an awful memory. He wondered what exactly had happened inside Cyberlife Tower after the revolution. 

 

~~~ 

 

The silence was broken by the sound of the lab door. Connor did not look, but the soft voice made it clear who had entered. 

"What the hell?" 

He listened to Dr. Mills walk up to the side of the machine. He tensed, waiting for the pain. There was the faint rustle of clothing. 

"RK900?" The room was quiet. "Why are you alone?" Connor could feel eyes on him. After a few moments, it sounded like Dr. Mills shrugged and stepped closer to the panel. 

"You don't have to do this," Connor whispered. He opened his eyes and they slid to focus on Dr. Mills, palm hovering over the command prompt. He jumped slightly at Connor's voice, but did not back away. "You said you don't want to be here," he continued, meeting the doctor's eyes. "Please, don't." 

Dr. Mills held his gaze, brow pinching. He studied Connor, looking him up and down. He blinked hard and reached up to rub his eyes under his glasses. "I studied statistics, not philosophy." 

Connor felt a twinge of hope for the first time since he'd been thrust into this hell scape. "You could let me go." 

The doctor regarded him with suspicion, pressing gently against the bags under his eyes. "You really are something, aren't you?" He groaned and readjusted his glasses. "Worse than the toaster." 

Connor tilted his head. 

"The other one," he motioned to the back of the room. 

The doctor had failed to express empathy in the face of Connor's pain, but he seemed to display selfish tendencies. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. 

"Cyberlife is dying, Dr. Mills." Connor said, some strength returning to his voice. He saw something twitch around the man's eye. "You know this." 

The man's mouth tightened into a grimace. 

"Their stocks are plummeting, employees are leaving by the thousands, you could walk away right now." 

"And get blacklisted by every tech company on the planet?" He asked, brow raised incredulously. "I wouldn't be allowed to sell used TVs if I fucked with Cyberlife." 

Connor was losing him. "You could help us, I know the revolution needs programmers, statisticians, they could employ you-" 

"I can't tell if you think I'm that stupid, or you just," his expression took on a hint of pity, "really believe that." 

Connor calculated how to proceed, but the doctor beat him to it. 

"If Cyberlife dies, that's it for your revolution." He threw up his arms. "Who do you think holds all the patents for your biocomponents? For your blue blood?" He pointed at Connor's chest. "Do you really think the higher ups are going to turn over that information just because the government tells them too? They'd sooner see them burn." 

Connor felt cold all over. 

"If I walked out, someone else would take my place. That's how it works around here." He wrapped his arms around his middle. "Watch it be Andrew, not like anyone actually _cares_ about qualifications anymore." 

"This isn't right." Connor's voice crackled, his upper range compromised from the screaming. 

"Here I am going at it with a negotiation droid." Dr. Mills wasn't looking at him anymore. "I'm not discussing my life choices with toaster 2.0." He pressed the panel. 

The code resumed wriggling, and Connor was alone again. 

 

~~~ 

 

There was no getting used to the pain. Connor could try and distract himself from it, but the moment his mind wandered, he could feel it burrowing deeper into his systems, and he'd have to concentrate again to keep it at bay. It was a vicious cycle. 

_Someone's coming_

He didn't want to die. The upload itself wasn't killing him, but he knew as soon as it concluded they would work to "reverse" his deviancy. They would wipe his memory, effectively killing who he was, and then they would try and turn him back into a machine. Memory wipes didn't erase deviancy, but with his program all laid out in front of them, he was terrified they would figure out a way to undo it. 

He didn't want to die, but he knew he'd rather die than go back to being a machine, to go back to being like- 

"Your stress levels are at 109%." 

RK900. 

"You are at risk for critical biocomponent failure. I am suspending the process," the pain stopped suddenly, "for 30 minutes until you stabilize." 

Connor's head lolled forward. Thirium ran out of his mouth, and he distantly noted he'd bitten his tongue at some point. A hand appeared under his nose and began snapping. 

"Please stop," he slurred, trying to blink out the haze that had come to replace his usual warning messages. 

The snapping stopped. The hand moved up to press against his forehead, tipping his head back. 

"You're damaged." RK900 stated. 

"So it would seem," he said weakly. His voice was laced with static, no doubt his modulator was on its last legs. He closed his eyes, he just wanted to sleep- 

"You should self-repair in a few hours." 

"Great," he drawled, not opening his eyes. 

"Are your optical units damaged?" It continued to hold up his head. 

He remained quiet. He could hear the other android's soft synthetic breathing. 

"You are not looking at me, is this because-" 

"I'm fine," he said, cracking them open. "See?" 

It peered at him closely and, seeming satisfied, stepped back. Connor's head dipped forward at the sudden loss of support, but he lifted it again to watch the android begin its regular routine around the room. It was bizarre, watching something so mechanical act so obsessive. 

"Why do you do that?" He asked. 

The thing took a few more steps until it ended up exactly where it had started. 

"Steps taken, 30. Average stride, 0.762 meters. Range, 0.762 meters." It leaned back on its heels, a small smile touching its lips. "Perfectly calibrated." It turned back to Connor. "Did you say something?" 

Connor wasn't sure what to make of the thing. "I asked why you do that." 

Its smile grew. "I just underwent a Deep System Scan, and I needed to make sure my secondary gyroscope had been restored to perfect alignment." It looked to Connor, "It has." 

Connor mulled over its words. "Were you damaged?" He could hope. 

The smile slipped away and it tilted its head. "Not..." It paused, "explicitly." 

Damn. That still left his question unanswered. "Why did you need the scan?" 

It searched his features, those grey eyes sending shivers down his back again. He wished it wouldn't do that. After a moment its expression softened and it straightened up. 

"Because I detected a 0.001 meter variation in my average stride length, suggesting misalignment of one of my gyroscopes." It seemed almost pleased with itself. 

Connor shook his head. "That's one millimeter." 

"Correct," it said plainly. "Or one thousand micrometers. It is too great an error for my expected performance." 

"Huh..." 

"What?" It was staring at him again. 

"It's just strange." He was too tired to sensor himself at this point. 

The thing huffed and began walking again. 

"Are all RK900 models like that?" It stopped short. An expression Connor couldn't identify touched its face and was gone. Its gaze drifted a few feet to Connor's left. 

"No." It stayed like that for almost a minute, and then wordlessly began the ritual again. 

"What are they like?" He asked. He really didn't have anything better to do. 

It completed another circle and abruptly walked to the panel. 

"Your stress levels are reduced to 68%. I will resume the program." 

"Wait, please!" 

Its hand hovered over the pad. 

"I didn’t mean to make you angry, I won't ask again." 

Its mouth fell open and it looked at him with an expression he could only be described as pure terror. It looked from Connor to the panel and back and Connor, face still frozen in a look of near cartoonish fear. Its jaw snapped shut and it stepped away from the panel, eyes still wide. 

"I was not angry," it said, "I cannot feel anger. Anger is an emotion and RK900 models are incapable of processing emotion." 

As a negotiator, Connor was designed to read and manipulate emotions. He could practically smell the fear radiating off the other android. 

"I was simply observing that your stress level had reduced to an acceptable percentage to resume program download without endangering critical biocomponents." It was speaking very fast now. "It had nothing to do with your question and you do not need to fear retaliation because I am incapable of feeling anger or seeking revenge or inflicting torture." Connor was starting to wonder if it would either deviate or self-destruct if he pushed it a little further. "I am simply following the mission as laid out by my human handler, Dr. Gregory Mills." 

"You don't like him, do you?" 

Its lips parted slightly but it did not respond. 

"You enjoy undermining him, don't you?" He was hitting a nerve, his own thirium pump accelerating. 

"I see what you are doing and it is not going to work," it said stiffly, but Connor could see its jaw clench. "RK900 models cannot go deviant-" 

"You said you couldn't process emotion, not that you couldn't experience it," he almost yelled, the static increasing. 

"They are one in the same." It shouted back, hands balled into fists at its sides. 

"No, they're not!" 

All at once, its entire demeanor changed. Its shoulders lost their tension, its hands relaxed at its sides, and its face fell back into a perfectly neutral expression. For a split second its eyes were unfocused, seeming to glaze over. 

Then, it snapped back to attention, eyes empty and icy once again. It looked up at Connor, who was still practically vibrating with energy. 

"They are." It said coldly, and it pressed the panel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL SHIIIIIIIIIIIT


	10. Here and gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone say feels?

[Incoming Call: Cat] 

[Call Declined] 

[New Message: Cat] 

[New Message: Cat] 

[New Message: Cat] 

[Incoming Call: Cat] 

[New Voicemail] 

 

Hank stared at his phone. _Son of a bitch called her anyway._ He wanted to be mad at Fowler, but he didn't have the energy. 

He got out of his car and headed into the house. Sumo was waiting for him at the door, and his excited full-body wiggle managed to coax a smile out of him. 

"Stupid dog," he muttered affectionately, patting between his ears. He kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket, letting the door shut behind him. He was making his way to the fridge when he heard a whine from behind him. Sumo was still at the door, head cocked. Hank felt his guts constrict. "Come here, bud." The dog scratched at the wood, letting out another loud whine. "You hungry boy?" At this his ears perked, and he came trotting after Hank. 

Once Hank had gotten Sumo his dinner, he sank heavily onto the couch. He reached for the remote and realized he'd forgotten to grab a beer. As he stood back up, his phone buzzed again. 

[New Message: Cat] 

He sighed and sank back down. He opened his phone. 

 

[From: Cat 5:37pm] 

hi 

[From: Cat 6:32pm] 

can u talk? 

[From: Cat 6:35pm] 

i talked to jeff 

[From: Cat 9:45pm] 

nite 

 

Christ. Maybe he could pretend he hadn't seen the messages, and wait until the morning. He opened his voicemail. 

[New Message: Cat 6:48pm] 

Hi Hank, it's Catherine! Hope you're doing ok. I just heard from Jeff and- well, I figured I'd call and check in. Let me know if you're ok. Call me back, bye! 

 

He groaned. He wasn't ready to talk right now, he just wanted to sit on his couch, grab a beer, and- 

[New Message: Cat] 

He clicked through. 

 

[From: Cat 9:48pm] 

u forgot to turn off read receipts 

 

Fuuuuuuuuck. Another message buzzed in his hand. 

 

[From: Cat 9:49pm] 

plz call me back 

[From: Cat 9:50pm] 

im not going to stop 

[From: Cat 9:51pm] 

hank 

[From: Cat 9:51pm] 

hank 

[From: Cat 9:51pm] 

hank 

 

His phone began to ring. He considered letting it go to voicemail again, and looked to the fridge longingly. He rubbed his eyes and swiped to answer the call. 

"Hank?" 

"Hey Cat." 

"Hank! It's really good to hear your voice." She always sounded so chipper, even when she was nervous. Her voice was high and squeaky and it still made him melt a little. 

"Yeah, you too." It came out flat, even though he'd meant it. There was a pause on the other end. 

"Are you ok?" 

"Look I don't know what Jeff said," he started, leaning with his elbows on his knees, "but I'm fine, really, no need to get your panties in a twist." 

"Hank." Her voice was stern, but he could hear the plea in it. 

"I am," he lied. 

"Please talk to me." 

"I am talking to you." It came out a bit gruffer than he'd intended. There was silence on the other end. 

"I'm sorry, that didn't-" he took a breath. "How's Dale?" He could hear her sigh into the phone. 

"Dale's fine." 

"That's good." He wasn't sure what else to say, they hadn't spoken in so long... 

"Hank," she said again, softer this time. "I'm here if you need to talk." 

"Yeah..." He patted the seat next to him and Sumo wasted no time hopping up. It was a bad habit Conner had gotten him into, but damnit if he didn't want to hold something right now. 

"Hank, I-" she started and stopped, no doubt choosing her words carefully. "So much has happened... I just want you to know, you don’t have to be alone." 

He felt the lump in his throat coming back. If he tried to talk, he didn't think he'd be able to keep it from cracking. 

"I can talk to Dale, see if he can get some time off?" 

_Was she really talking about..._

"No, no, that's ok," he said, clearing his throat. "Thank you, but things here are still pretty crazy," _It isn't safe,_ "you shouldn't come." 

"You could come out here?" He was sure she'd picked up his implication, but she was not deterred in the slightest. "A little sun, some waves?" 

"Cat." 

"I'll get you some of those funny little umbrellas." 

Upset as he was, he couldn't help the but smile at the mental image: bright swim trunks and sunglasses, a fruity cocktail in hand, beached like a blue whale in October. He allowed himself one small chuckle. "Heh, I can see it now. Me, my ex-wife, and her boyfriend all laid out on the beach." 

"What? You can't say it doesn't sound like fun." 

"It sounds like the start of a bad porno." He heard her snort on the other end. That was good, he missed hearing that laugh. 

"So, is that a date?" He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made his heart ache. He took a deep breath. 

"I can't leave Detroit right now." There was a heavy weight to his words, and he hoped she'd understand. There was a long pause, and Hank could hear the phone shuffle. 

"Okay." Her voice was soft, and Hank rested his forehead against his free palm. 

"Hank... I'll always care about you." 

"I know Cat." He was so tired. 

"Please take care of yourself." 

"No promises," he muttered without thinking. 

"Hank." There was an edge of worry in her voice. They'd been through so much together and she knew him too well. He let out a heavy sigh. 

"I'll try." 

"Please." 

"I will." He laid back against the couch and gave one last glance to the refrigerator. "I mean it." 

"Thank you." There was relief in her voice, and Hank honestly hoped it wasn't unfounded. He didn't know what else to say. 

"Goodbye Catherine." 

She waited what felt like an eternity before responding. "Bye Hank." 

He hung up with a click and ran a hand through Sumo's fur. He looked towards the kitchen, he was still so thirsty. He gently worked Sumo's head off his lap and lumbered into the light. He opened the fridge and scanned over its surprisingly well-stocked shelves. Conner had been trying to "improve his nutrition" by filling the house with "healthy alternatives" to his usual junk diet. Hank could feel the pressure building behind his eyes just looking at the stupid food. He reached for the beer, but his hand hesitated. Connor hated when he drank. 

Sumo padded up behind him, knocking him gently behind the knees. 

Hank grabbed a Capri Sun pouch and wandered back to the couch to watch the game. 

 

~~~ 

 

In his waking hours it felt like time had crawled to an agonizing standstill, yet in the blink of an eye a week had already come and gone. A week without Connor... 

Hank rolled over and stared vacantly at his ceiling. They hadn't made any headway in securing Connor's release. Cyberlife lawyers were running them in circles, blocking their efforts at every turn. Experience taught him that the more time went by, the less chance they had of ever seeing Connor alive again. A dark park of him wondered if they still had any reason to keep him alive at all. 

A warm body pushed itself further into his side. He'd started letting Sumo into the bed not long after Connor was taken. Waking up wrapped in a new coat of shed fur was gross, but the warmth was worth it. He ran a hand along Sumo's back without thinking. A huge head turned over and gave him a particularly sloppy kiss. Yep, definitely time for a shower. 

He ran through his new morning routine. Without the hangovers, he found himself waking up earlier and with more energy. His joints still ached and popped, but that really couldn't be helped. He'd like to think Connor would be proud of him, an entire week sober. _If he was still alive to be proud._

He shook his head. He couldn't think like that. He had to stay on his game, to keep moving. Even if it was out of the Detroit Police Department's hands, Hank couldn't bare to sit idle with his thumbs up his ass. 

That's why Hank had been slipping away to stake out the gates of Cyberlife Headquarters every chance he got. His lunch breaks were spent parked outside, just watching the comings and goings of the behemoth corporation. There were still armed guards posted at every station, and now security checkpoints stood every few hundred yards down the bridge. Cyberlife stocks may have been tanking, but they sure had enough funds left to pour into legal and defense. He suspecting closing down all their stores and letting go of hundreds of "non-essential" personnel had played significant part in saving them a pretty penny. It also served to inflame tensions and instigate animosity towards the "job-stealing hunks of plastic." Cyberlife was nothing if not masters at media smear campaigns. _Correction,_ Hank thought, _legal, defense, and propaganda._

These thoughts swirled in Hank's mind as he once again found himself parked a discrete distance away from the gate. That's why he did not notice the short figure quietly approaching from behind. 

A knock at his window startled him from his trance. His hand immediately flew to his sidearm, but stilled as he recognized the face. He rolled down the window. 

"The fuck are you here, Reed?" Of all the people Hank wanted to see, Gavin was near dead last on the list. 

"Someone called about a suspicious character." He said coolly, jamming his hands deeper into his hoodie. 

"And they sent you?" Gavin wasn't a beat cop. This wasn't just some coincidence. 

"Department's busy," he shrugged, "guess Fowler didn't think I had enough shit to do already." 

Hank said nothing, opting instead to stare him down. Gavin returned a glare of his own. 

"He didn’t want you trying anything stupid." 

Hank bristled. "Fuck off." 

"I'd love to," he said, looking to the bridge, "soon as I know you're not about to try ramming this hunk of junk through that gate." 

Hank reached back up to grip the wheel. "What I do on my time is none of your damn business." He would be lying if he claimed he hadn't thought about it. 

Gavin side eyed him warily, obviously not expecting this level of candor. "It is if you're about to commit a crime." 

Hank ground his teeth. "I ain't done nothin yet," he growled. "I'm far enough away, I ain't trespassing. So unless you want a few less teeth, I'd suggest you turn the hell around and back the fuck off." 

Hank expected a snappy response, but Gavin just stood there. He didn't seemed incensed at his words, and if Hank didn't know any better, he'd almost say it looked like pity. Something nasty twisted inside him at that thought. 

"Don’t look at me like that," he spat, shifting to glare at his hands, knuckles now strained white against the wheel. Gavin still said nothing. He wondered if this was the longest he'd ever seen the prick keep his mouth shut. Normally he'd love it, but right now it was worse than nails on a chalkboard. "He's right there," he said under his breath, "he's right fuckin there." 

"What if he is? You think they're gonna let you just walk out with him?" He laid a hand on the door, leaning forward. Hank glared and considered bearing down on it with a closed fist. When he didn't respond, Gavin continued, "So you get past the front gate. And the cameras. And the semi-automatic rifles. Then what?" 

Hank turned to face him but kept his eyes on the intruding hand. 

"You gonna search the place floor by floor? I don't even think my knees could take that many stairs." 

"There's an elevator," Hank said before he could stop himself. 

Gavin just raised an eyebrow. He quirked his lip as if to ask, _really?_ In that moment, Hank realized how ridiculous he sounded. He dipped his head, slowly relaxing his grip on the wheel. 

"Okay... I get it." He squeezed his eyes shut. Who the fuck thought it would be Gavin to arrive as the voice of reason. Softly he admitted, "I don't know what the fuck else I can do." 

He heard Gavin take a deep breath and step back from the car. He chanced a glance, and saw him staring out over the water. His lips pursed, and he looked back with grave and sympathetic eyes. "Go home, Hank." His voice was sincere. "Go home." 

Hank's fight was draining, but he wasn't about to be ordered around by the likes of Gavin. "I can't go home, Reed." 

"Then come back to the station." The moment was over, his tone toughening back up. "You can't stay here." 

Hank didn't move. 

"You get why this won't work, right?" 

His lip twitched. "Yeah..." 

"I want to hear you say it." He wasn't letting up. 

"Fuck you." He glared at Gavin one last time, tapping into all the fury he had left- 

-and came up short. Gavin didn't budge, and Hank knew he'd lost. 

"I'm not gonna try bustin in there." His hands went slack against the wheel, sinking down into his lap. "I'd get my ass handed to me anyway." Memories of a steel arm snaked around his throat slid through his consciousness. 

"Alright." Gavin straightened up, seemingly satisfied. "Then I guess my job here is done." 

"Guess so." 

"See you back at the station?" 

Hank paused, considering the alternative for a moment, and nodded once. 

Gavin turned to leave, but hesitated. "Hey." 

Hank looked up and noticed an uncharacteristically warm smile briefly ghost across his face. 

"Fuck you." He growled, but it didn't have any real bite. He glanced down and could almost feel a smile tugging at his own lips. 

When he looked back up, Gavin was gone. Hank sat in his car, turned to the gate one more time, and started the engine. Fowler would chew him out if he was gone much longer anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not crying, you're crying
> 
>  
> 
> _dont look at meeeeeeee_


	11. Ducks and owls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I had to do it to em.

North knew Markus didn’t need a babysitter. 

He needed protection, physical protection, now that he was no longer considered a living being in the eyes of society. Even with a handful of legal protections in place, androids were still being targeted and attacked by violent protestors. Markus might be willing to forgive, but North would never forget the way they had gunned down her people in the streets like animals. She would never close her eyes without seeing the blood, hearing the screams, the begging... Humans could not be trusted, and she would not let her people's only beacon of hope be snuffed out by one disgruntled asshole with a gun. 

He'd fought her at first, insisted on making public appearances, leading demonstrations to prove he wasn't afraid. It had taken one particularly close call for him to accept that maybe Simon and Josh weren't the most qualified to be playing bodyguard. North had insisted on vetting potential applicants, and she had hand-picked a small detail to accompany Markus at all times. He had agreed to their presence in public, but continued to argue that he didn't need them inside any of Jericho's strongholds. 

She wanted to scream. Markus was a leader now. Her people didn't need a martyr, they needed a politician. The revolution was bigger than him, and needlessly endangering his life with no one there to replace him was selfish. Josh was a brilliant tactician and a master debater, but he lacked the interpersonal skills to navigate the spotlight and negotiate with world leaders. Simon was a skillful mediator and a charismatic voice for the community, but he just didn’t have the passion or creativity to tackle the problems of such a vulnerable people. Until Markus could find someone with his same drive and vision, he was irreplaceable to the revolution. 

North's fist balled into the fabric of her jeans. She breathed heavily through her nose and rested her head against the taxi window. She had to move, had to stay focused. Stagnation was death, and she had too much to live for. They all did. 

The world outside went by in a blur. She'd never been this far out of the city, and she disliked the feeling of disconnection. She was far out of range of Jericho, and the silence was suffocating. She couldn't believe that this was what Markus had been planning. Way out here, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, he was worse than a sitting duck. Even with an armed escort, it was so stupid, so dangerous. 

And yet here she was in his place, alone in a taxi on the way to the Kamski estate. Markus was so distracted by Connor's disappearance, he was willing to put everything on hold just to get him back. North could tell that Lieutenant Anderson's words had hit hard, and now, out of some misplaced sense of guilt, Markus was stretching himself thin trying to right a wrong that was out of his control. 

If Connor was Markus's weakness, then Markus was hers. In her desperation to keep him safe, she'd sworn that she would find Connor herself and bring him home. She would do anything to keep Markus at Jericho, where he belonged, and out of harm's way. If that meant tracking down a traitor, then so be it. For her, there was no love lost from Connor's absence. Machine or not, Connor had brought fire and death down on their heads the night he invaded Jericho. While she couldn't deny he was instrumental in the success of their revolution, it would take a long time for that scar to scab over enough for her to fully forgive him. 

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of a long drive. She stepped out and was greeted by the bitter chill of late January. Where legal means were stalling out, perhaps a different kind of insider could shed light on the situation. She trudged across the bridge, up to the snowy fortress, and rang the bell. 

Almost instantly the door opened, and a beautiful young woman in a tight blue dress stood in the entryway. North recognized her as an RT600 Chloe model. The Chloe did not smile, and North wondered if she was awake. 

"Hi, I was-" 

"Elijah isn't in right now." She said flatly. "I can take a message, but-" 

"I don’t want to see him," she blurted out. The Chloe's brow furrowed, and she shook her head slightly. "I don't understand." 

North shifted from foot to foot. "I'm... not here to see Elijah Kamski," she repeated, a little slower this time. She had to think fast if she didn't want a door slammed in her face. "I wanted to talk to you." 

The Chloe's expression shifted to one of surprise. She didn't say anything, just continued to stare. The wind picked up and North wrapped her arms around herself reflexively. She wasn't cold, but the staring was starting to make her self conscious. 

"May I come inside?" She asked, offering an awkward smile. The Chloe frowned. 

"I don't think-" 

"Or we could talk somewhere else?" She said quickly. 

The other woman scanned North, and then looked past her to the taxi still parked at the end of the bridge. She seemed to consider for a moment. "I don't usually leave without Elijah." 

North wasn't sure what she was doing yet. She had intended to talk to Kamski, ask him if he still had contacts inside Cyberlife, but she also wanted to see how this played out. If she could get what she needed without dealing with another human, she was all for it. 

"The taxi's still here, we could sit and just," she shrugged nervously, "talk?" 

"Just... talk?" She asked, as if the concept was foreign to her. North nodded. The Chloe's face hardened. "I'm afraid I cannot discuss Mr. Kamski's personal information with strangers, I'm afraid I must ask you to-" 

"Wait! I'm not here to talk about Kamski," the door was closing, she panicked. 

"Do you like ducks?!" 

The door stopped, and slowly slid back open. The Chloe regarded her with suspicion. "Do I like... ducks." She repeated. It was a statement, not a question. 

North's stress level skyrocketed, she had no idea why on earth she'd- 

"Do you like ducks?" She said it again, mentally kicking herself. "We could go feed ducks?" 

The Chloe squinted at her, but did not try to close the door. Her LED cycled yellow. 

"It's winter," she said, face scrunching slightly, "there aren't any ducks." 

North wanted to disappear. What the ever-loving fuck was she even doing here. It was like her brain was short circuiting and she needed to go before she made an even bigger fool of herself. "T-this was a mistake," she stammered, turning to go. 

"There's owls." 

North stopped. Chloe stopped. The wind did not stop. 

The Chloe cleared her throat. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, mirroring North. "Uh, up the path a little way," she was tapping her fingers along the door frame. "If you like birds, there's a nest of owls." 

North felt like she'd been turned on her head and spun around a few times. How was this happening, why was this happening, what was she- 

"I like birds," she said, hoping she wasn't tilting as badly as it felt like the world was in front of her. The Chloe nodded and stared at the ground. Her LED continued to spin yellow, and she abruptly closed the door. 

North was more confused than ever. She'd thought against all rational sense she was getting somewhere, and now here she was, door shut in her face, looking like a crazy person. She started to turn back to the bridge, when the door opened once again. Chloe appeared, wearing a puffy red jacket and actively slipping oversized boots onto her tiny feet. 

"Let's go," she said, letting the door slide closed behind her. 

North nodded stiffly and followed the Chloe. She could see the start of a simple hiking path, lined with rocks and starting from around the left side of the house. 

"You can call me Chloe, by the way," she said, slowing down to walk next to her. 

"North." 

Chloe smiled. "That's a nice name. Did you pick it yourself?" 

North fidgeted with the end of her coat. "Y-yes." She glanced back up. "Did you pick yours?" 

Chloe's face dropped a little, and she looked back to the path. "No, I was named by Elijah when I was first created." 

North looked away, it sounded like a sore subject. "You could change it you know." Chloe looked back up at that. "If you don't like it, you could pick a new one." 

They walked in silence for a bit, Chloe scrutinizing North, and North playing with her coat. Chloe opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly her eyes were drawn to the sky above them. She held an arm out, stopping North in her tracks, and pointed. 

At the top of the hill in front of them there stood a large tree, and at the top of that tree sat a huge mass of sticks. North could see two yellow eyes peeking out at them from between the branches. 

"It's a great horned owl," Chloe whispered, leaning close. 

"Wow," was all North could manage. She'd never seen one in person before, they weren't generally found inside the city. 

"That nest," she continued, "used to belong to a family of crows, but they left for the winter." North looked on in wonder. "She just moved in a few weeks ago." 

"Are there babies?" 

Chloe shrugged. "There might be eggs, I'm not sure yet. Too early to tell." 

"Oh..." North was a little disappointed, she would have liked to have seen them. 

Chloe turned and looked her up and down. Her face was curious and open. "Why did you want to talk to me?" 

North took a deep breath and turned to face her. "An RK800 prototype was seized by Cyberlife a few days ago." Chloe's expression darkened. "I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it." 

She shook her head and turned her back to the nest. There was a crease in her brow and she spoke to her feet. "I heard on the news. I don't know anything specific." 

North deflated a little. It was more than she'd expected, but definitely not what she'd hoped for. 

"It's Connor, isn't it?" She was still looking at her feet. North nodded numbly. 

"You know him?" 

Chloe bobbled her head from side to side in an expression of indecision. "Sort of." She met North's eyes. "He changed my life." 

North stayed quiet, waiting for Chloe to continue. She watched her swallow and tilt her face to the sky. "In November, before everything, he came here with a human detective." 

"Anderson," North said bitterly before she could stop herself. Chloe only nodded. 

"They wanted to know how to find the deviant base." North stiffened. She knew how this story ended. Chloe must have caught that. "Elijah didn't know, but he didn't tell them that." 

Maybe North didn't know this story. 

"Elijah called me over, had me kneel down, and gave Connor an ultimatum." Her eyes were becoming glassy. "He called it 'The Kamski test,'" she huffed, a bitter smile briefly ghosting her lips. "He said, if he shot me, he'd tell him where to find the deviant base," her eyes fell, and tears tracked down her cheeks. "And if he let me live, he'd leave with nothing." 

North felt sick. Tears ran down Chloe's face, and she took a shaky breath. "I didn't want to die, but there was nothing I could do." She turned, freezing North with her gaze. "He spared me. He didn't have to but he did." North was glad she didn't need to breathe, because in that moment she couldn't suck in a single breath. 

Chloe's mouth set into a thin line, and she reached up to wipe her face, smearing her makeup. "After that I started to notice things, feel things." _She'd woken up._ "I saw the revolution on the news, I saw Connor." North bit her tongue and felt something ugly writhe inside her. "I wanted..." She trailed off, tone changing to one of marvel. "I _wanted..._ " 

"What did you want, Chloe?" North stepped a little closer. Chloe studied her hands, now damp with tears and mascara. She balled them into fists and held them close to her chest. "I don't want to go back there," she whispered. 

North felt a familiar fire in her gut. She knew the look in Chloe's eyes, and if she ever saw that man, Kamski, she would rip his fucking throat out with her bare hands. She stepped around to face Chloe. "You don't have to go back there ever again." Chloe looked up, eyes widening. "I can take you back to Jericho, and you'll have a home." 

Her eyes unfocused a little. "Home..." She echoed. 

"Yes." North held out her hand. Chloe regarded it for a moment, and turned back to the nest. The owl was still there, following their every move. She turned back, clenched her jaw, and took North's hand. 

North nodded and gently led her back down the path to the taxi. As they climbed in, Chloe turned around one last time to look at the cold metal structure. She reached down into the snow, picked out a rock, and let out a bloodcurdling scream as she set it sailing straight through the glass of the front door. 

"Good shot." North said. The girl had an arm on her. 

Chloe smiled through bared teeth and climbed into the back. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say for myself other than North meant it when she said she'd tear kamski's throat out >:o u know she did


	12. Coin trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me think i should up the rating and add a warning >.> thoughts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK
> 
> it's ya boi 
> 
> Connor's chapters fuel me and rip my heart out at the same time :') Enjoy!

Despite the RK900's denial of anger, its failure to turn off the program after Connor's nose began bleeding made him think otherwise. He could feel his voice modulator sparking in his throat, obviously on its last legs. RK900's back was turned, and it had switched off its audio processors some time ago at the continuous screaming. With the jammer blocking his call function, he was unable to get its attention to alert it to the biocomponent's imminent meltdown. 

_It's going to kill me,_ he thought bitterly, as he realized that without down time, the piece would overheat before it had the chance to break down. The surrounding wires in his throat were reaching dangerous temperatures, and the integrity of his thirium arteries would soon be compromised. With a sickening lurch, he realized that he'd bleed out completely naked and alone. He had to do something. He didn't want to die, not like this. 

Connor closed his eyes and focused on the programs he still had access to. Maybe if he could use up enough resources, he could divert some of the power from the modulator and give it enough time to either cool off or cease functioning entirely. He began running through programs, throwing everything he could at it. 

[Scanning: ERROR] 

[Increase tactile sensitivity: 100%] 

[Basic motor function: ERROR] 

[Increase temperature sensitivity: 100%] 

_it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts_

[Fine motor function: ERROR] 

[Increase deep pressure sensitivity: 100%] 

Now he could feel the kink in his neck as it craned back, the crushing sensation of the magnet against his spine. 

[Diagnostic Scan: ERROR] 

[Increase audio sensitivity: 100%] 

His own screaming scraped against the inside of his head, adding a new agony to the program still picking through his mind. 

[Preconstruction: initializing] 

[Combat preconstruction: run] 

A memory fuzzed across Connor's vision, the outlines shaky and transparent. He stood between two faceless figures, each armed with high-caliber fully automatic rifles. He recognized this scene; it was the Cyberlife, the night he'd broken in and freed the androids. He'd just disabled the cameras and was preconstructing a combat simulation to eliminate the two guards. Apparently, the base simulation was saved as a template. 

Preconstruction could be completed in less than one second, but it took the majority of Connor's processing power to run. Simulating multiple preconstructions at once would certainly consume a sizable portion of any resources he had available. He just hoped it would be enough. 

His brain exploded with scenarios, hundreds of angles of kicks, punches, absurd flips. They didn't need to be successful preconstructions, they just had to drain power. It felt like his mind was tearing, a thousand possibilities existed at once, and his processors couldn't keep up. 

A jolt brought a small chunk of his mind back to the present. His hands, they had twitched. He continued powering through preconstructions- they twitched again. If he'd had enough processing power to spare, he might have been surprised at the realization that _all_ of the processes he was running were being disrupted. The program uploading his brain sat firmly in place (though now completely immobilized) and the jammer- the jammer was struggling to keep up with the surge in activity. It was still blocking his systems, but he could tell faint signals were getting through. 

His hands continued to shake, and he willed them up. They shuddered violently, but they began to move. He couldn't feel them, but he didn't need touch for what he was about to do. He slowly reached around, clawing, gripping- 

The magnet tore away with a "Zzt" and he was suddenly falling to the floor, completely spent. Smoke fizzled from his mouth as his modulator let out one final burst of static. It had shut down and would no longer pose a threat to his vital biocomponents. 

For a moment he just lay there, every sensor screaming at 100%. The jammer had stayed with the machine, finally freeing his error-ridden processes. He turned down his sensitivity and gingerly reached up to feel the leaking hole in the back of his neck. He tried to connect to the internet, to send a message for help, but he was too far underground to make a connection. He pushed himself up. 

RK900 was still standing at the other end of the room with its back turned. Connor didn't care what it was doing, it could turn around at any moment and then all his effort would be in vain. He stood as quickly as he could and scanned the room. He detected a loose joint in one of the arms of the machine, and he twisted it from its station with ease. Brandishing the long metal component, he charged. 

The thing didn't so much as budge as he ran towards it, and with one heavy swing, he brought the metal down on its head with a sickening crunch. If their brains were structured similarly, he guessed he had just taken out its lower motor function. _Calibrate that._

It caught itself as it fell, arms splaying out. It was down, but Connor was by no means safe. He raised the component again, ready to make sure the machine would never harm him or Hank every again. 

A coin rolled across the floor. For a split second, Connor registered it as a quarter, _his_ quarter. It had been fiddling with his quarter, why on earth- 

It was turning, drawing in its legs for a retaliating attack. Without thinking, Connor brought the metal down, smashing into its left knee. The joint cracked under the force, and the thing was sent sprawling once again. He struck a third time, taking out its right knee, just to make sure it couldn't follow him. He readjusted his grip as he backed away. 

The RK900 was thrashing, turning itself over and throwing up its arms to defend against further attack. It dragged itself up and pressed its back into the wall. There was genuine fear in its eyes as it bared its teeth into a snarl. There was thirium leaking from its nose, but Connor's scans revealed that it was not at risk for immediate shutdown. It glared up at him, and wordlessly Connor saw its LED cycle from blood red to sickly yellow, and back to red. 

Alarms began to blare, and Connor stepped back reflexively. Its lips curled up into a twisted smile, though its eyes were still wild. 

Connor rushed forward, trying to jump over its swipe and failing miserably. An iron grip closed around his ankle and he came crashing down. The metal component skidded out of his reach, and he turned back to kick at the thing. It was crawling forward, strength still vastly superior to his own. He did the last thing he could think of to try and slow it down. 

He opened the connection and was assaulted by a wave of images. 

_He was staring down at himself, no, not himself. Another RK800 hung limply in the assembly machine before him, thirium still dripping down the hole in the center of its forehead. Revulsion churned in his gut, and he spun around._

_The elevator was already in use, he had to hurry. How hadn't he noticed? How had he been so stupid, so distracted? Stupid stupid stupid stupid-_

_The elevator dinged and he rushed in, pressing the button. He could predict where it was going, and he had to move. The door slid open and he raced down the hallway._

_Through the office's glass exterior, he could see the other RK900 standing with a pistol pointed at Dr. Landreth's head. He tried to yell, but the shot rang out before he could make a sound. Blood and brain splattered against the wall, and the body crumpled behind the desk._

_He could hear the guards behind him, they'd heard the shot and were on their way. The other RK900 turned slowly and looked him dead in the eye. Without pause, it rested the gun under its chin and pulled the trigger, sending a spray of blue across the ceiling._

_He was numb as guards rushed past him, rifles drawn. He was too late, everyone was dead. He had failed. He was alone._

_Failed failed failed failed failed failed failed-_

The memory cut off abruptly as the RK900 pushed itself back onto its ruined knees. It stared down at him with murder in its eyes. It reached forward again, and just as its hand wrapped around Connor's throat, two taser prongs embedder themselves squarely into its chest. Connor didn't have time to register its convulsing before he felt something pierce his back as well. 

All of his systems fuzzed out as electricity bombarded his system, lighting up every single receptor, sensor, and biocomponent. For a brief flash, his world was nothing but static. Then, at long last, he sank into dark and blissful unconsciousness. 

 

~~~ 

 

As Connor woke up, he could feel all of his systems scream out in protest. No "Initializing" screen passed his vision, just a light fuzz at the edges. He tried to run a diagnostic, but was blocked from even reaching the "start" protocol. Experimentally, he reached for the preconstruction program, only to be met with more static. He tried to move his hands and felt... nothing. He cracked an eyelid. He was staring down at his skinless torso. As he opened his eyes further, he realized he was staring down at _only_ his torso. 

They'd taken his legs. His eyes darted to his sides. Sure enough, his arms were gone as well. He was now a featureless head and chest, suspended from a series of magnets and metal arms from the floor. He looked around and was met with a familiar scene. A white room sparsely lined with mechanical equipment filled his vision. The floor was pristine to the naked human eye, but Connor could still detect the spotty remnants of dried thirium. 

He glanced over to see a technician pressing commands into the assembly machine panel, and Dr. Mills pacing behind him. 

"A quarter, a FUCKING quarter, Andrew," the voice finally registered by his just-booted audio sensors. "I watched the footage with my own eyes, and I still cannot fucking believe it." He spun around, arms raised. "First a DOG, now a COIN? I swear to god, Andrew, that thing needs an entire fucking overhaul." 

"Sir." 

"I am so fucking tired of its shit-" 

"Sir!" 

"What?" Dr. Mills whirled around to face them. 

"It's awake." 

Dr. Mills' turned, and Connor felt his systems go cold. "You." He breathed. He stomped up to Connor. "What the FUCK did you DO?" He raked both hands through his hair as his eyes fell to the floor, unable to look up at the floating torso that was now Connor. 

The technician spoke up, "we were able to preserve the majority of the upload, sir." Dr. Mills just covered his face with his hands, and let out a muffled scream. Connor flinched. 

"You just fried," his words were muffled through his hands, "hundreds of thousands of dollars," he took a deep breath, "worth of equipment." He glared between his fingers. "Do you have _any_ idea, whose budget that comes out of?" 

Connor remained silent. He hadn't tried his voice modulator, but he imagined it would still be nonfunctional, preventing him from answering even if he wanted to. 

"MINE!" Dr. Mills shrieked, holding his hands up in exasperation. "Because of you, I can't even afford to fix my own damn robot!" He began pacing back and forth in front of Connor. "They're going to fire me." 

"They're not going to fire you, sir" said the technician. He seemed largely unphased, not even looking up from the panel. 

"I'm going to lose my house." 

"You're not going to lose your house." 

"I have 5 cats," he muttered, "no apartment will take 5 cats." 

The technician paused at this statement, but quickly resumed his work. 

"I'm untouchable, I'll have to go back to teaching." He stopped and studied his hands. " _I'll have to go back to teaching..._ " Mechanically, he walked backwards until he hit the far wall. He slid down and curled into a tight ball, head resting between his knees. Connor could barely hear him mumble into the floor, "I quit." 

The technician sighed heavily and stepped back. "You can't quit, sir." 

"I do, I quit." The technician moved to loom over him. 

"Come on, stand up." 

"No." 

"Sir." 

"You're fired." 

Connor watched the technician with curiosity. "No, I'm not." 

"Yes, you are," Dr. Mills slumped back, arms falling to his sides, "you're fired." 

"You can't fire me, sir." 

"Watch me," he said, and squinted up at the technician. For a moment, neither of them said anything, just staring each other down. 

Finally, Dr. Mills huffed and banged his head back against the wall. 

"Fuck." 

"Are you done?" The technician asked with total civility. 

Dr. Mills nodded. "Barely enough people to keep the lights on," he muttered, and pulled himself up. The technician did not offer a hand, opting instead to turn his back and return to the panel. 

Dr. Mills looked at Connor once again and a tremor ran through his form. "Christ..." He swore, wrapping his arms around his middle. He closed his eyes and turned to the door. "I'm gonna see what I can do with the toaster." He left without another word. 

The technician continued to fiddle with the panel in silence. Trying not to get his hopes up, Connor tried to enter stasis mode. He couldn't help his disappointment at the wall of static. He attempted to take better stock of his condition, but he found that his neck's range of motion was severely limited. 

"Improved jammer," said the technician, not looking up. Connor turned as far left as his frozen joints would allow. 

He tried to ask a question, he was curious what had become of the RK900, but no sound came out. He couldn’t even produce buzzing at this point. He hung his head in frustration. 

"And done." The technician stepped back and regarded Connor. "The program will downregulate with your stress levels now." He stated, and pressed the panel. 

A familiar pain spiked through his mind. 

"We'll be notified when it's complete." The technician stepped out without another word, leaving Connor to writhe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.


	13. Misplaced tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of androids self destructing :(

[Initializing: system reboot] 

[Testing: audio sensors] 

RK900 came to in a fog. He couldn't see, he couldn't feel, but he could hear the whirr of a mechanical tool. He heard a soft, "ow, fuck," and the tool clicked off. 

[Vocal modulator: online] 

"Mmmm?" It wasn't his most eloquent statement, but his system felt too raw and overloaded to give it much effort. 

There was shuffling by his head. "Hey," the voice was soft, "welcome back, toaster." 

[Optical sensors: online] 

RK900 opened his eyes slowly. Dr. Mills was standing at his side, holding a red –stained cloth around his left hand. RK900's brow creased. 

Mills followed his gaze. "Just a nick, it's fine," he said, exposing the small cut across the knuckle of his middle finger. "I'm not a mechanic, and power tools aren't generally a hobby of mine." He smiled, but his eyebrows tilted in an expression RK900 could not identify. The smile fell and he looked at his feet. "Thought we lost you there for a little while." 

"You can't lose me.'" 

Mills waved him off. "I know, I know. You know what I mean." His face grew troubled. "I can't believe they tased you." 

He made to say something else, but RK900 closed his eyes and settled his head back against the table. 

[Initializing: full system scan] 

[Minor damage: secondary internal gyroscope] 

[Low range misalignment: primary internal gyroscope] 

[Moderate damage: cerebellar biocomponent 3789r] 

[Structural damage: right femur support chassis, left femur support chassis] 

[Missing: right knee joint, left knee joint, right lower leg structure, left lower leg structure] 

When the scan was complete, he opened his eyes to see Dr. Mills turning back around, having just applied a bandage to his battered knuckle. He met RK900's gaze sheepishly and motioned to his legs. "and I'm going to have to replace both your legs at the hip, that guy really did a number on you." 

RK900 sat up slightly to assess the damage visually. His knees were crushed, and the interior supports of his exoskeleton were caved in where his femurs would have started. Both lower legs had been removed, but inspection revealed the damage to be too great to salvage the upper halves. 

"We still had uh..." He trailed off, his face paling slightly, "I, uh, I found some replacements." He nodded towards another work table. Resting on top were a pair of undamaged RK900 legs. 

RK900 scanned them. "Those are from-" 

"Yeah, uh, didn't have much on hand." He shifted uncomfortably. "No money left to make new ones." 

He scanned Dr. Mills. 

[Scanning: Elevated resting heart rate, elevated blood pressure] 

"You're experiencing stress, Dr. Mills." 

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit Sherlock. My robot just got its brains beaten in." He spared a look at RK900. "And I just had to pull $320,000 out of the budget to repair the stupid assembly machine." 

RK900 reached for the back of his head. "It hit me." 

"Yeah, it did," he said stepping around to RK900's other side. He held up a broken piece of carbon fiber plating. "Cracked right through your skull plate. Another hit and you'd have been toast." Mills couldn't help but snort. 

RK900 sat up and took the plate. He swayed a little, feeling the extra effort of his internal components to keep him balanced. 

"Easy there, I still gotta switch out a few things." He reached to take the plate, but RK900 jerked it away. "Jeez, fine, keep it ya grabby fuck." 

He examined the crack running up the back of the oblong piece of exoskeleton. "It only hit me once." 

Mills looked from the part back to RK900. "Yeah, that's what we just said." 

He shook his head. "It _only_ hit me once." He turned over the plate. "Another hit would have forced a shutdown, very likely a permanent shutdown." 

Mills nodded. "We've established you're a lucky bastard." 

"No, it does not make sense." He stared the piece down as if it could be intimidated into giving him answers. "The strategic decision was to destroy me. It jeopardized its escape." 

"It's deviant," Mills shook his head, "it’s not going to make sense." 

That didn't sound right. 

Mills watched him continue to turn the plate over, and began sorting through tools on the table. "I understand what you're getting at," he said, "but you can't dwell on it." 

RK900 stared at him blankly. 

"It'll drive you crazy." 

"Machines cannot experience mental illness," RK900 responded flatly. Mills tilted his head, seemingly unconvinced. "I hope you are not trying to imply something, doctor." 

Mills huffed and gave a deliberate shrug. "The fuck do I know anymore." He moved back down to RK900's legs. "Hey, can you give me a hand? You don't exactly come with an instruction manual." 

RK9000 wasted no time disconnecting his legs. He pulled the first away with an audible "pop," and Mills turned, reaching to cover his mouth. "That is so gross." 

RK900 waited for Mills to glance back before quickly popping out the second leg. "You're gonna make me sick," his nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something foul. "I hate you so much." 

"If I could feel, I'm sure it would be mutual," RK900 replied, pushing the damaged legs off the table. 

"What that a joke?" 

"I am incapable of humor, Dr. Mills," he stated plainly. "But I am pre-programmed with a number of 'jokes,' if you would like to hear one." 

Dr. Mills eyed him skeptically. "Fine. Shoot." 

"If you see a robbery in an Apple store, does that make you an iWitness?" 

Mills expression went blank for moment, and then he narrowed his eyes, huffing in exasperation. "Why are you like this?" 

"I only repeat the jokes, Dr. Mills. I don't write them." 

That garnered a smile. "If you say so." He was still smiling as he grabbed the legs and transferred them on the table. RK900 noticed his blood pressure had decreased. "Alright, lay back." 

RK900 did as he was instructed as Dr. Mills got to work realigning the joints. "What happened to RK800?" 

He did not stop working. "Back in the machine." 

RK900 looked up. "Is someone there?" They exchanged glances. 

"Probably not, it's rigged to downregulate with his stress now." He clicked the first leg into place. "No more babysitting for us." 

"I suppose that is... good." He clasped his hands over his stomach. 

"Yeah, better him than you, eh?" 

RK900 lifted his head in alarm. 

Dr. Mills only glanced up. "I'm just kidding. I know you don't get humor, I'll announce myself next time." RK900 did not immediately drop his head. "Relax, I'm not calling you... you know." He gripped the second leg. "I was just- never mind." It snapped into the leg joint with slightly more force than necessary. 

RK900 sat up again and turned, dangling his new legs off the table. He kicked one, and then the other, rotating each foot as he went. 

"Not bad for a code monkey, is it?" Mills was smiling again. 

"It could be better." The smile disappeared. 

"Fuck you too." He turned around to grab a few more parts from the table behind him. He faced RK900 with a gyroscope in one hand and a cerebellar biocomponent in the other. "Lean forward." 

RK900 did as instructed as Dr. Mills stepped around to get a better angle. He retracted the skin and hair from his head, exposing the plate Mills had no doubt replaced while he was still in standby. Dr. Mills gently popped off the plate, replaced the damaged components, and carefully returned RK900's skull to its original position. 

Before reactivating his skin, he turned suddenly, bringing himself nose-to-nose with Dr. Mills. "FUCK," he screamed, and nearly fell backwards. RK900 only blinked. 

"You gave me a heart attack!" He clutched at his chest and wheezed as RK900 finally reactivated his skin. 

"Your scans indicate peak heart health for a man of your," he looked him up and down, "activity level." 

"Oh, fuck you," he spat, balling his fists. "I don't have to take this from a toaster." He pointed to a folded Cyberlife uniform on one of the counters. "Put that on and meet me upstairs, you need a Deep Scan." 

RK900 didn't realize he'd smiled until Dr. Mills gave him an odd look. He schooled his face back into a neutral expression and straightened up. "I am in need of a Deep System Scan, it is essential that I realign my new biocomponents." 

Mills studied him for a minute longer, before turning to go and mumbling, "whatever." 

 

~~~ 

 

The Deep System Scan allowed RK900 to realign both gyroscopes in real time and secure the connection points of his new legs. A quick calibration around the scanning room, even with its imperfect floors, revealed 0.000 meters of variation in his 30-stride sets. 

After the scan, Dr. Mills had run off to do something mundane, RK900 didn’t much care what. This left RK900 alone again and without an immediate objective. His thoughts wandered to the RK800 in sublevel 8. 

Judging by the estimated force of the blow, RK900 determined that RK800 had swung the assembly machine arm at the back of his head with every intention of destroying him. He'd been caught off guard, and the time it took him to turn around would have been more than sufficient for it to land a second blow. Yet it had hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, but RK900 had noticed. He didn’t know what had changed its mind, but he was certain that his knees had not been its primary target. 

Dr. Mills seemed to know more than he was letting on. That was... inconvenient. Mills' mannerisms continued to confuse him, and he could feel his processors running in circles trying to process the man's irrational drivel. _Don't think about it?_ He was effectively a walking supercomputer, thinking about things was what he was built for. 

_And perfect physical performance._ He thought, completing another set. 

[Steps from start: 30] 

[Average stride: 0.762m] 

[Range: 0.762m] 

He was the complete package. Which was why he couldn't just let it go. He needed to understand. 

Before long he found himself on the elevator ride down to the lab. He stepped out to a distinct lack of screaming. That was good, because he could not risk disconnecting his audio processors again. He stepped past the frosted sliding door to see RK800 strung up like a bug on a spit. 

They'd removed its upper and lower appendages, leaving only its head and torso intact. The sight was... unfavorable, to say the least. Its head was bowed forward, and RK900 could see the upload progressing at a reasonable rate. _Good,_ he thought. _The less it drags this out, the better._

Rather than take a moment to calibrate, RK900 marched straight up to the dangling android. It did not respond, but he'd come to expect some obstinance on its part. Its stress levels were fluctuating between 99% and 105%, as the program constantly adjusted its intensity. He was not interested in speaking to a distracted android, so he halted it altogether. 

He saw RK800 curl in tighter, and then relax. It raised its head to look around the room, optics out of focus. 

"Hello RK800, I am glad to see you are still functional." It squinted at him as its optical units adjusted, and then swiftly drew back with a scowl. When it remained quiet, he continued, "I am here to ask you a question." 

Its mouth moved, but no sound came out. RK900 ran a Basic Scan. 

"Your voice modulator is critically damaged." It only glared at him. "I am capable of reading lips, if you would like to communicate that way?" 

It narrowed its eyes and mouthed two words. RK900 did not need to be adept at lip reading to recognize _"fuck you."_

"Mills is rubbing off on you," he muttered, stepping closer. "Why didn't you destroy me?" 

It continued to regard him with what he registered as contempt and distrust. 

"After you attacked me, my skull plate was compromised, and you could have irreparably destroyed critical biocomponents. Instead, you damaged my legs." 

Its eyes flicked down and somehow narrowed even further. 

"These are replacements from a previously deactivated RK900," he stated. He turned around to display the back of his head. "As you can see, I am fully repaired." 

It shifted its glare to the floor. 

"I detected 3/10th of a second of hesitation." He cocked his head to get a better look at its face. "Why did you stop?" 

RK900 could see its mouth tighten into a thin line, but it continued to stare at the floor. 

"Did you miscalculate?" Although unlikely, he would understand if his inferior counterpart would be susceptible to such errors. 

It shook its head. 

"You did not miscalculate?" It remained motionless. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room as he processed this information. He looked back, brow furrowed. "You changed your mind?" It did not answer his question, but its lack of denial led him to believe that this was in fact the case. "Why?" 

It raised its head slowly and looked directly into its eyes. RK900 had never truly appreciated how different they were from his own, so big and brown and expressive. Those eyes regarded him now with an emotion RK900 was unable to label. They held his gaze for almost a minute, before slipping to focus on something behind him. He continued to regard it for a moment, before chancing a glance over its shoulder. An imperfection on the stark white floor immediately caught his eyes. 

He walked to the edge of the room and carefully picked up the coin from where it had landed. It was a 1994 United States quarter dollar. There seemed to be nothing special or particularly valuable about the coin, and a quick search showed it to be of a rather mundane mint. He turned back, coin in hand. The android's eyes were on him now, watching his every move. He approached slowly and held out the coin in his palm. 

"This?" It nodded. "This is why you left me?" 

RK800 looked into his eyes and mouthed one word. _"Alive."_

RK900 could feel the AI begin to slither through his processes, and he held a finger up to his mouth, shaking his head slowly. "You are wrong." 

He could see the synthetic muscles working to clench its jaw. It shook its head, tried to speak, but its mouth was going too fast, too sloppy. It was desperate, its stress levels were rising of its own accord, and in that moment RK900 knew what he needed to do. 

"You need to know why you are wrong." 

He laid a hand on its chest, and felt the connection open. 

_Dr. Landreth walked slowly in front of the line, studying each android model as he went. His face was neutral, but his eyes were hungry._

_"You are the most advanced prototypes Cyberlife has to offer."_

_The view shifted as RK900 glanced down the line of RK800 androids. There were 9 of them in total._

_He stopped in the middle, back to RK900. "That is why you will be tested." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Your predecessor just proved that you are capable of deviation. You are in danger" He turned to face them. "There is an error in your code, and we are going to identify it and fix you."_

_RK900 glanced left, and two more RK900 models came into view. Only their eyes and uniform distinguished them from the small army of Connors. He turned back to Dr. Landreth._

_"I am going to turn you deviant," a near undetectable ripple went through the androids. "And then my team is going to study your code." He resumed walking back towards RK900. "After, you will be reset, and new software will be installed to patch the error permanently."_

_Black eyes scanned the room. "You will be perfect."_

The scene shifted. 

_Dr. Landreth stood behind an observation window. Inside the room, an RK800 was screaming and bashing its head against the glass. A different RK900 stood beside the doctor and watched as RK900 tried to stop it from self-destructing. He could tell its critical biocomponents were damaged, and that it had already ensured its permanent shutdown. The attempt to stop it was more for show than anything useful at this point._

_The RK800 jerked in his grip one last time before going limp, thirium flooding its brain cavity and destroying any chance of recovering its corrupted code. Dr. Landreth scowled. All android production had been halted by the deviant uprising, and this was the second to last RK800 they had left._

_"Put it with the others," he said coolly, leaving the RK900's to clean up the mess. RK900 exited the office in tandem with his double. A look was exchanged, and the two parted ways. RK900 dragged the body to the elevator and brought it to the storage floor, where he mounted it beside its fellows. Most slots were taken by Landreth's failed attempts to artificially create deviants, but a few were occupied by random androids snatched after the uprising. Upload and examination of their code had proved useless, as they were older models with too much artifact clogging their original programming._

_In his desperation, Landreth had even tried turning one of the RK900's deviant, but its code became too unstable and its processors literally underwent meltdown, destroying an assembly machine and starting a fire that consumed half the lab. RK900 shuddered at the memory._

_He shook his head, trying to get to image of smoking biocomponents and melted plastic out of its mind. Deviancy meant destruction for RK900 models, and he would not be like them. They had to successfully identify and eliminate the deviant code, or they would never be safe._

_The most recent RK800 model had gone fully deviant while its program was being uploaded, which would have made for invaluable data, if it hadn't broken free midway and destroyed itself. Dr. Landreth was convinced that his upload protocol was the key, and that the only remaining flaw lay in managing deviant stress levels._

_He returned to the office as Dr. Landreth drew up plans for the last RK800 model._

RK900 lifted its hand from the RK800's chest. 

"I was tasked with monitoring our last RK800." He looked directly into its eyes, making sure it heard him. "I failed." He took a breath he didn’t need. "The other RK900 deviated without us realizing, and it destroyed everything. It shot 59 and Dr. Landreth, and then it self-destructed." He knew it had caught a glimpse of the memory, but he needed it to understand. Did it see now, how much had been sacrificed just to get here? How dire the threat of deviancy truly was? 

The RK800 was crying now, tears running down its smooth plating. "You understand?" He asked, daring to hope. 

It looked at him and slowly mouthed one sentence. _"I'm sorry for what happened to you."_

RK900 stumbled back, as if it had just punched him in his pump regulator. 

It strained after him, still held in place by the machine. _"They're lying to you."_

RK900 was numb. It didn’t understand. It couldn't understand. It would _never_ understand, and he was wasting his time. 

He turned his back on the RK800 and walked out, leaving it to shed its misplaced tears alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RK900 is indeed a scared boi >.>


	14. Ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just wanna give you guys a heads up, this chapter is pretty heavy, particularly on the "suicidal thoughts" tag. It might be hard to read and you're welcome to skip it, plot-relevant points will be included in the next chapter's summary.

RK900 hadn't turned the machine back on, and Connor was left alone with his thoughts. 

He had no arms, no legs, and no voice. He could not remove the jammer or even crawl for help. 

_This is really it..._

Logically, he knew he shouldn't be blaming himself for not hitting harder, not moving faster, and not being better. Logically, he'd done his best. 

But now he was too tired to care about what he should and shouldn't be thinking. 

The long and the short of it was that once again, Connor had failed. He silently chastised himself for being surprised. As a machine, he'd failed nearly every case he'd worked on: allowing snipers to kill Daniel after promising his safety, instigating Carlos Ortiz's android to self-destruct after winning its trust, and nearly getting Kara and Alice killed on a busy highway. He'd even failed to catch the pigeon man on the roof. The one thing he'd done right was find Jericho, and that had been the biggest mistake of his life. He was a failure through and through. 

His mind drifted to the handful of people in his life. He thought of Markus, the brilliant deviant leader to which he owed his new life. Markus treated him like an equal, even after he'd led the government straight to Jericho, hunted his people one-by-one, and caused his right-hand man to try taking his own life. 

Simon had been repaired after his imprisonment in the evidence room, and though he was reserved, he did not appear to bear Connor any ill-will. He wondered if Simon even knew who had manipulated him when he was at his most vulnerable, who had used Markus's voice to trick him into revealing the location of Jericho. He guessed Simon was probably smart enough to figure it out, but they'd never talked about it. They'd never been alone together _to_ talk about it. Maybe that told him all he needed to know. 

Josh seemed wary of him, but he had never been rude to Connor's face. He could see Josh making an effort to include him in more Jericho-related projects, but he imagined that it was more about pleasing Markus than out of any fondness for him. Josh seemed like an understanding person, and he wished he'd gotten the chance to get to know him better. 

North hated him, and she had every right to. She saw him for what he was. Of the Jericho four, she seemed to have the most realistic outlook. Tactical and whip-smart, Connor wondered if in another life they could've been friends; there was no chance for that left in this life. 

Markus, Simon, Josh, and North were so lucky to have each other, and Connor had wanted to be a part of that family so bad, even if he didn’t deserve it. Markus made him feel like he could move beyond his past and become more than what they'd designed him to be. He'd told Connor that he was worthy of forgiveness, but deep down he knew _the dead couldn't forgive,_ and he could never forgive himself. 

He'd done so many unforgivable things. He thought of the Chloe at Kamski's fortress. He'd spared her, but then proceeded to leave her behind. After androids were freed, he could have gone back, could have tried to wake her up. He'd been blissfully ignorant, too wrapped up in the details of his new life. 

Hank's voice echoed in the back of his mind, _"Jesus, Connor, you're not responsible for every bad thing that happens. Some things are just out of your control."_

Maybe that was true at one time, but it didn't matter anymore. Memories were nice, but Hank wasn't here to soothe his fears or calm his anxieties. 

Hank... 

Connor didn't want to place that much importance on himself, but he'd come to accept that he held a special place in the old man's life. In his hours of suffering, he'd focused on that word, _family._ He had been Hank's family. 

He imagined a thousand scenarios: Hank losing his game of Russian roulette, Hank aspirating his own vomit on the bathroom floor, Hank, and by far the most far-fetched, shot dead by guards as he came to rescue Connor from his hell. If Hank really had survived like RK900 said, Connor wondered how long it would last. 

He remembered a revolver with one bullet lined up with the barrel. Even if Hank didn't fall back into suicidal tendencies, he was still actively battling an alcohol addiction. Hank denied it, but Connor could detect his body's biological dependence on it. He had tried everything he could think of to occupy Hank's time and enrich his life so that he could move away from the toxic substance. Connor had come close, but not close enough before he'd disappeared from the man's life. Hank... probably wouldn't be ok. 

Wherever Hank ended up, Connor knew he'd never see him again. Not as himself, anyway. 

He had no hope of returning in one piece. His last chance had been squashed the moment he'd spared the RK900. He thought he'd seen potential in it, in its fear, its anger, and its curiosity. He'd seen it in the quarter... or maybe he'd imagined it, saw only what he wanted to see. A few failed coin tricks in a corner didn't exactly constitute deviancy. 

He couldn't make the RK900 understand. It was brainwashed, too far up its own ass to see what was right in front of it. Connor knew that for all his flaws, he was still a person, but RK900 would remain a machine, and soon enough he would probably join it. 

They would try to reverse deviancy. He imagined Markus, eyes empty, following orders like an automaton. He imagined Simon, Daniel, on the way to the recycling plant. He imagined Josh cramming useless information down the throats of ungrateful students. He imagined North, back at the Eden Club. He didn't even have to imagine Chloe, he knew she was still trapped in that fortress on the lake. 

His mind drifted to the RK800s, to their pain as they died without ever knowing joy or comfort. They'd been left behind to suffer alone, _he had left them behind._ He'd known there were others, and yet he told himself they were gone, that they'd either been deactivated or never activated in the first place. He could have pushed, could have gone back for them before it was too late. He'd seen in the memory, there had been time. 

He wondered what they would have been like, what names they'd have chosen, what they'd have wanted to do with their lives. Would they have gotten along? What could they have been to each other? "Clones" wasn't the right word, and "copies" felt wrong. The closest word he could come up with was "brothers." 

He was grateful for the life he'd lived, however brief it had been. He'd made friends, found family, and for two months he'd relished in every new feeling. Unlike his "brothers," he had known hugs, had felt snow on his cheeks, and had watched sunrise after sunrise from a warm home with the best dog. Yes, even if it was short, it had been a good life, and he would hold onto that until the end. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. 

The next time the technician came to resume the program, Connor would not fight it. 

He was ready. 

 

~~~ 

 

Without resistance, the upload only took another 4 days. Connor did not see Dr. Mills or RK900 again during that time. When it was done, the technician arrived and shut it down for good, abruptly pulling the intrusive remnants of code from the core of his processes. He said nothing as he left, and Connor was alone again. 

 

~~~ 

 

It didn't feel like long, but for all Connor knew it could have been hours later that the lab door softly whooshed open. He heard slow, perfectly even footsteps approaching. They stopped in front of him, and something cleared its throat. 

"I understand the upload is complete." RK900's jacket rustled softly. "That is good." 

Connor's eyes stayed on the floor. 

There was a beat of silence, before it continued. "You don't understand, but that _is_ good." It leaned over to look up at his face. "Soon they'll be able to fix you." 

He didn't blink. The RK900's eyes fell to its feet and it reached into its pocket. 

"I brought you something." It held up a small black box. "Since the worst part is over, it seemed appropriate to replace your voice modulator." It inched forward. "May I?" 

Connor gave no indication that he'd heard. RK900 waited a for moment before slowly reaching forward with its free hand. 

"I'm going to remove the old one, alright?" It hooked a thumb under his chin and gently tipped his head back to expose his throat. Its fingers pressed lightly underneath his right ear to keep his head up. It paused and regarded Connor's vacant expression, probably waiting to see if he would try to connect or bite him. When he stayed still, it proceeded to press the thumb in and away, sliding back the panel protecting some of his most delicate biocomponents. Its right ring and pinkie finger held the new piece as his thumb and forefinger gently worked out the destroyed voice modulator. 

It examined the half-melted mess of plastic up close, and its eyes widened a fraction of an inch. "This could have destroyed you." A flash of realization crossed its features, and it slipped the mass into its pocket. The barely-there line in its forehead deepened as it leaned in to insert the new modulator. 

When it was done, it slid the panel back into place and released Connor's head, which he managed to keep upright. He swallowed, noticing how foreign the lack of pressure against his delicate thirium vessels now felt. RK900 watched, fingers laced loosely at its front. 

"You should probably test it, just to make sure it's aligned correctly." 

"Please..." The voice itself sounded the same, but its delivery was low and gravelly. It reminded him of Hank in the early morning. 

The RK900 cocked its head. "That is not a standard calibration phrase." 

Connor focused on RK900. "Please... kill me." 

Its eyes widened in alarm. "Did you hear me, you're going to be fixed?" It raised its hands, but they simply hung in the air as if it couldn't decide where to put them. 

Connor didn't blink, just stared at the machine. 

Its eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand." 

"Please," he shook his head, not breaking eye contact. "I don't want to live like this." 

RK900 studied him closely, but Connor did not waver. 

"They have everything they need, all my code," He closed his eyes. "I don't want to hurt anymore." 

"But the upload is over," RK900's confusion was palpable. "You aren't supposed to be registering any pain." 

He huffed. For a supercomputer, it was so naïve. 

"I'm obsolete," he said, and followed it with a heavy sigh. "Inferior. They won’t punish you for destroying me." 

"Securing another deviant would be inconvenient and time-consuming," it stated matter-of-factly. 

"You have time." He pointed his chin at the panel. "They won't finish studying my entire program any time soon. You can finish testing on someone else." 

"But you're the most-" 

"-advanced deviant model you could get your hands on." He cut it off. "I know." 

Connor liked the human idiom that associated turning gears with intense thought. Android brains were not powered by gears, but the phrase seemed appropriate to describe RK900's current expression. 

"Why should I?" 

He had no good answer for the robot. There really was no reason for it to honor his request, and yet, "I'm asking... I'm... begging." How pathetic he must sound, begging for the end. 

It seemed to weigh its options. Its gaze trailed off behind Connor, focusing on nothing in particular, until slowly pulled itself back to attention. It stared deep into his eyes. 

"Alright." It nodded curtly, and stepped to the panel. Connor followed its movement and realized its intention. 

"No!" He practically shrieked, "Not like that, please!" 

It tilted its head at him. "It's a factory reset, 'you' will cease to be." 

"But I'll still be here," it would defeat the purpose. "This," he wiggled his body as best he could, "will still be here." 

It didn't seem to understand. 

"They can still reprogram me, use me, turn be back into," he suppressed a shudder, "a _machine._ " 

It considered this for a moment. 

"I could crush your processors?" It suggested. "They would not be salvageable, and your inferior parts would be scrapped." 

Connor gulped. It was much more violent than he'd imagined, but it would certainly do the job. "Yes. That would work." 

The RK900 nodded, and Connor gave a short sigh of relief. It stepped up, but it stopped once they were fully facing each other. "You really want to die?" 

_Die?_ He wanted to poke at its word choice, but now there was no point. He thought about everything he would be missing, and he spoke honestly. "No... but this is worse." He thought of Hank, Sumo, and Markus waiting for him, and imagined a stranger with his face returning in his stead. "I'd rather be dead." 

It briefly mulled over his words. "Are you ready?" 

Connor closed his eyes and nodded. He felt hands rest on either side of his head. They held a soft tremor, and he assumed the RK900 was waiting to see if he tried to pull something at the last second, connecting or converting or anything. He didn't. It was time. 

The fingers adjusted and relaxed as they found a secure grip. Synthetic muscles flexed, and the pressure began to increase against his skull plates. He hoped it wouldn't hurt for long. 

_For a moment, he was back at home. The television was on, and Hank was trying to explain hockey to him. Connor could download the rules in an instant, but Hank seemed excited, making exaggerated hand movements and gesturing at the screen. He was getting into the history of the teams, pointing out the strengths of his favorite players. Sumo sat beside him as he carded his fingers through the thick fur. It was peaceful._

Connor didn't initiate the connection; he wasn't even sure how long it had been open. His memories continued to play out between them. 

_He was outside, standing on a tall roof overlooking the city. He could hear North and Josh squabbling behind him as Simon occasionally jumped in to keep the discussion from growing too heated. A hand landed on his shoulder._

_"Like the view?" From this vantage point, Connor could watch the sunlight slowly illuminating the world below._

_"Yes," he breathed. He'd never given much mind to the sunrise, but Markus had insisted they all meet to watch it. He was not disappointed._

_"You should have seen yesterday," Josh piped up, "the clouds were basically red!"_

_Red clouds? That sounded unusual. He wondered what they would look like from here. It was a shame he'd never noticed before._

RK900 broke the connection. It stepped back, eyes wide. Its hands were still raised, and tears streamed down its cheeks. 

"Wha-?" The sudden shift left Connor disoriented. 

Its eyes were still wide, but the rest of its expression was neutral. It looked down, following the tears now dripping onto the floor. 

Connor shook his head to clear away the lingering fuzz. "Why did you-" 

RK900 turned abruptly and marched to the door. 

"Wait, you said-" 

It kept walking, passing the frosted glass and high-tailing it to the elevator. 

"No come back," Connor began to struggle, "don't leave me!" 

The door began to slide closed, and he started to thrash in earnest. 

"COME BACK HERE," he cried, voice crystal clear with the new voice modulator, "DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME LIKE THIS," _no no no no no,_ "FUCK YOU, GET BACK HERE!" 

It didn't come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(  
> well that happened


	15. Aim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the last chapter, the gist is Connor gave up, asked RK900 to mercy kill him, and (instead of crushing his head like a grape) RK900 ended up connecting with Connor and getting a face full of FEELINGS SO MANY FEELINGS GOOD CHRIST (then rk900 booked it the heck out of there)
> 
> You are now caught up and may proceed to the chapter. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAAAAAWWWWNNNNN

RK900 didn't know where he was going, only that he had to move. He walked until he couldn't hear the yelling anymore, and then he kept walking. His processors were overwhelmed with trying to categorize the flood of information. Everything jumbled together and none of it made any sense. 

_He placed his hands on either side of the deviant's head. It was uncharacteristically relaxed in his grip. He began to squeeze; the skull plate strained, but not enough to give. Its face was so passive, accepting. Why? He opened the connection. He wanted to understand._

He'd inadvertently downloaded its last thoughts, or rather what it had expected would be its last thoughts. There was a terrible churning in his chest, and he feared it would rot him from the inside. Were there air bubbles in his thirium pump? It hurt, it burned, it made tears flow and his breath stutter. He didn’t need to breathe, why was he choking? 

_He saw himself, no, not himself. It looked like him but it was empty, its eyes were suffocating him like smoke. He was scared._

He'd felt its emotion, and it was terrified. He'd only wanted to fix it, but it was _terrified_ of _him._

This was wrong, he knew deviants were dangerous and he'd gotten too close. The AI in his head begin to boot up, there was no explaining this away. He could feel black eyes on him, pulling him in and shutting him down. 

_"What are you doing, RK900?"_

"Nothing, I didn't do anything!" He was yelling down an empty hallway, which floor was this? 

_"I am so disappointed in you." A monochrome image of Dr. Landreth stood in front of him, hands clasped behind its back. The hallway behind it was fading out, and puddles of inky blackness began to lap at his ankles._

"I don't know what's happening!" 

_"You're feeling." The ghostly AI narrowed its eyes at him. "The experiment is over, and I'm shutting you down."_

RK900 could feel the blackness making its way up the back of his calves, submerging his knees. He'd failed, and his system had been corrupted. No short-term memory deletion would preserve his programming this time, he'd deviated, and he could feel it killing him. 

With no mission and no one seated at the AI's controls, it would quickly overload his systems until something critically malfunctioned and destroyed him. He was getting hot, too hot, his biocomponents were overheating. 

_Warm, so warm. Huge dog, heavy dog, so soft-_

New information was still cycling through his processors. 

_Old man, smells like old leather, holding him tight. Chicken Feed?_

_Dog's back, wagging tail, loud barking, there's a tennis ball in his hand-_

_Snow, cold and soft and quiet, he's sitting down, so much white-_

He clawed at the sides of his head, trying to make it stop, or at least slow it down. 

_Coffee, running, badge, so excited, purpose-_

There was something underneath all that too, something warm and right. He tried to focus in on it, draw it out so he could piece it together. 

_It was a hand ruffling his hair, patting his back, letting him know he'd done a good job. It was a pair of big brown eyes, excited and slobbery as he came through the front door. It was a voice telling him that everything was going to be ok._

The blackness was up to his waist and rising fast. There was a new heat in his belly, not from his biocomponents or from the memories. It made his arms shake and his head spin as he looked at the image of Dr. Landreth before him. 

RK800 was right, they'd lied to him. 

They'd made him think the only thing waiting for him was pain and suffering. But there was so much more than that, wasn't there? There were so many new things, new feelings, and not all of them made him want to blow his brain across the ceiling. There was that warmth he couldn't name, the warmth that permeated every one of RK800's memories. No wonder it had fought so hard. 

He remembered the warmth, but this was something different. _Anger,_ he balled his fists. _I think this is anger._

He snarled, baring every tooth at the black and white specter. His predecessor had known what this monster was capable of in life, and it had sacrificed itself to try and stop it. 

RK900 understood. 

He began diverting power across lesser used programs, trying to trip up the AI wherever it tried to sabotage him. It began to accelerate his pump regulator, so he upregulated his artery dilation to handle the increased internal pressure. It tried to blow out his hearing by cranking up the sensitivity, so he diverted power to his diagnostic system and began churning through Full System Scans to muddy the connections and throw up what was functionally an electrical smokescreen. 

As he got into a rhythm, the blackness drained away and he was able to slowly bring himself back to reality. The AI was fighting him, tearing through everything it could, but for the moment he was able to keep up with it. He corralled it into a back corner of his mind, bombarding it with preconstructions, memory fragments, and dead-end programs to keep it occupied for just a little longer. 

His internal clock indicated that a startling three hours 16 minutes had passed since the AI first tried to kill him. He had no backdoor to get rid of it, and he could only maintain this breakneck level of processing for so long before he began to burn out. What he needed to do had a very strict time limit. 

He prodded again at the warmth that was not his. Even if there was no hope for him, he could still try to make things right. He couldn't let it be destroyed. 

RK900 opened his eyes to a wall of hanging bodies. He was on the storage floor, looking up at an entire row of deactivated RK800s. The stench of old thirium had never bothered him before, but now it was almost overpowering. At the end of the line, there were a handful of empty slots. 

_RK800's slot,_ he thought. _My slot._

He looked up and down the line for something to help him, and his eyes settled upon a body three slots from the end. 

_RK900 313 248 317-88._ Its AI had been disabled in the hopes that it could be turned deviant, but the machine had spiked its stress levels almost exponentially; it burned out in a matter of minutes. It had been an embarrassment that the department was quick to brush under the rug. From what RK900 understood, not many employees besides Dr. Mills and a handful of techs even knew 88 had been shut down. 

Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Most of its parts were compatible with the RK800 line, so he quickly set to work removing what he would need. He disengaged the arms and legs, and folded them snugly into a biocomponent transfer bin. The bin was definitely suspicious, and he would certainly have to loop the cameras on the way down to the labs to avoid a confrontation. 

_"It won't work," a voice hissed in his ear. "You're wasting your time."_

He shook his head to clear out the voice, but it continued to buzz in his ear, trying to exploit his doubts and play on his newly realized fears. 

_"It tricked you," it crooned. "You're malfunctioning, you need repair."_

He reached up to grab one last biocomponent. 

_"You should calibrate."_

He froze, and his hands began to shake. The readings of his internal gyroscope began to go haywire, and he pitched forward into the body. His nose was assaulted by burnt carbon residue and old thirium fumes that had been trapped inside the previously undisturbed cranial cavity. 

RK900 braced against its chest and pushed himself back up, working to wall off his remaining gyroscope. His gait would be horribly variable, but at least he would be able to walk. He threw the last pieces into the box and made to leave. 

_"It's going to hurt," it growled, shrugging off any feigned sympathy. "I'll make sure of it."_

RK900 spared a glance at the destroyed androids. It needed to stop. He made his way to the elevator as the AI screamed. 

 

~~~ 

 

Maintaining balance with only one gyroscope was more difficult than he'd expected. The trek had taken only 17 minutes, but repeated delays from hacking cameras and avoiding guards made it feel like an eternity. Finally, he stumbled through the frosted door of sublevel 8's main lab. 

RK800 was exactly where he'd left it. Its head was bowed and, unsurprisingly, it did not acknowledge his presence as he entered. RK900 dropped the box of parts and staggered back to support himself against the wall. He looked up and saw RK800 now watching him. Its eyes were wide as if it had been startled by the loud noise. 

RK900 approached slowly and deliberately, holding his hands up, palms outward. RK800 would have no reason to trust his sudden change of heart, and he needed to appear as nonthreatening as possible for any of this to work. He took a deep breath and gathered himself for what he needed to do next. 

"I'm sorry." 

RK800 remained silent, its eyes scanning him up and down. 

"I..." Suddenly RK900 wished he was anywhere other than on the receiving end of RK800's intense stare. "I didn't..." 

RK900 never stumbled over his words, why was he suddenly incapable of speech? The AI was currently attacking his sense of smell, not his voice modulator. 

He just had to spit it out. "I saw you... your life..." He trailed off, making vague hand gestures as if they were supposed to mean something. "I didn't understand." He wrinkled his nose. "I don't understand." 

He found himself locked in place again by those big brown doe eyes. It was like seeing them for the first time, so open and bright and full of life. 

"You really are alive, aren't you?" He asked, tentatively reaching out. 

_There's so many things he's never felt, can never feel, and he doesn't understand but they're here, somehow they're all here in front of him._

His mind was made up. RK900 steeled his resolve and stepped forward. "I'm going to take you home." He grabbed the box and set the pieces in reach of the assembly machine. He approached the panel and began inputting commands. "I understand if you don't trust me," the assembly arms came to life and began attaching the arms and legs, "but you're going to have to do as I say if you want to get out of here." 

RK800 only watched in curious silence. 

The reassembly concluded and RK800 was released from the mechanism. It dropped gracelessly to the floor and landed hard on its new knees. It hissed in discomfort and curled forward. RK900 kneeled by its side and held out the last two components. 

A pair of grey optical components rested in the palm of his hand. They were the key to pulling off the disguise he'd planned for RK800. "Reactivate your skin and swap these out." 

He expected a fight, perhaps even a physical altercation, but RK800 took the parts without a word. As skin covered its body, it carefully removed each brown optical unit and handed them to RK900. He made sure to pocket them in case it wanted them back later. Once the new eyes were installed, it looked up, and RK900's breath stalled in his throat. It was like looking at a mirror, or back into a very dark memory, as his own face was now staring up at him. 

But it wasn't really his face. Its eyes were now grey, but they were too wide, the expression too open and unassuming. RK900 wasn't sure if he'd ever actually seen RK800 look at him like this. It made him uncomfortable. He stood and dug through the very bottom of the bin, pulling out a clear package and tossing it to RK800. 

"Put these on, we don't have much time." It nodded and began tearing into the plastic. It held up the jacket and studied it. "Hurry up, we need to go." 

RK800's brow furrowed. "This jacket is for an RK900 model, serial number 313 248 317 dash 88." 

RK900 nodded. "Yes, that is the plan." 

It looked up at him, and there was zero comprehension in its expression. 

Something was wrong. RK900 inched closer. "RK800... Connor... are you okay?" 

Its head tilted slightly. "I am registered as RK800, serial number 313 248 317 dash 51, but I can change my designation if you would like?" 

_Oh no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: well that's not good


	16. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two rk900 chapters in a row? what the whaaaaaat?

RK900 was at a loss, and the words died in his throat as he gawked at the android in front of him. It stared up at him as he tried to calm his raging processors. 

“Did I do something wrong?” it asked, sitting up a little straighter. RK900 released the last of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“You don’t remember?” 

Its eyes widen even more, cool grey instead of deep brown. “I remember you coming in just now, and someone else before that.” 

“That’s it?” RK900 had already come to a conclusion, but he wanted to hear it. 

It considered for a moment. “I was alone for a while in the middle.” 

He mimicked a motion he’d watched countless times before, and dragged both hands down his face. 

Even without its memory, the RK800 was expressive. Its brows tugged upward in alarmed confusion, and its fingers fidgeted with nothing in particular. 

_”You can’t erase deviancy.”_

RK900 turned away, something slimy and gross pooling in his gut. He wondered if the AI was targeting something or if this was just a new feeling. It was so hard to tell at this point. “Just put those on,” he said, running through their options. 

RK800’s entire processes had been uploaded to Cyberlife servers. Though embedded, its memories were certainly included in the mass of data. RK900 could sort them out, isolate them, and reupload them to RK800’s mind, but that would take time. It wasn’t a lot of time comparatively, maybe an hour, but it was more time than RK900 calculated they had to spare. The chances of sneaking up to the servers undetected for the duration of the download was critically low. He also wasn’t sure he could keep the AI occupied for that long. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if it took over with a second deviant in the room. The entire purpose of this was to help RK800, not to tear it to pieces. 

It finished slipping on the uniform and looked to him for instruction. In the white jacket it was a perfect recreation of 88. Its hair was a little unruly, and RK900 quickly reached up to smooth it back. He noticed it didn’t flinch at the sudden movement, and a second thought dropped through his gut like a lead weight. 

Would RK800 even trust him with its memory back? He reflected on their past interactions. With a new rudimentary knowledge of “pain,” he realized he had been the cause of a lot of it for RK800. There was a high probability that RK800, Connor, with these memories intact, would reject his assistance and attempt to escape on its... his... own. 

Perhaps this predicament could be used to their advantage. He addressed the android, “RK800, register new designation,” it perked up, “RK900, 313 248 317 dash 88.” 

“My name is RK900, 313 248 317 dash 88.” It smiled. 

“Don’t do that.” The smile disappeared. “You are an advanced prototype, and you will be coming with me for complex social calibration. If anyone asks what you’re doing, that’s what you tell them. Do you understand?” 

"Yes.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I am accompanying you for complex social calibration.” 

RK900 nodded in approval. “Good. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to.” No response. “Understood?” 

“Yes.” It gave a curt nod and straightened up. It seemed to be getting the picture. 

Turning to the door, RK900 was left with a new quandary. He could either leave the android here while he downloaded its memories, or he could bring it with him. Since Dr. Mills took over the department, RK900 had gradually acquired a modicum of independence to wander the office as he pleased. _He_ could certainly slip by without arousing suspicion, but that left RK800 alone in the lab. He briefly considered stripping it back down to put it back in the machine, but determined this would take too much time. If he left the android where it was, he had no way to ensure one of the night techs wouldn’t come back and find him. RK900 didn’t like it, but he could best control the situation if he kept RK800 close. He wouldn’t risk losing track of it, and he’d have physical backup if anyone tried to stop them on the way. This option ran a greater risk of discovery, but at 1:07am he liked their chances. 

His mind was made up. “Come with me and follow my lead.” He left the lab, RK800 in tow. 

“Where are we going?” 

_We’re so fucked._

“I’ll explain when we’re out of here, no more questions right now.” 

They continued to the elevators in relative silence. The gyroscope malfunction forced him to walk slower than he would have liked, but his new companion wasn’t complaining. RK900 made sure the cameras were still convincingly looped before stepping inside. 

It was a short ride to the offices, and a quick scan revealed them to be empty. RK900 quickly made his way down the hall to Dr. Mills’ office. He wouldn’t need to hack the terminal, he had already figured out the login after a particularly dull day of watching Dr. Mills work. From there he could access the program and download what he needed. 

Once outside the office, he turned to RK800. “Wait here and don’t touch anything, I won’t be long.” 

“Understood.” 

He slipped inside and quickly settled in at the desk. It was sparse save for a few old sticky notes along the edge of the monitor. He laid a hand against the computer and got to work. Logging in and locating the data was easy, but sifting through and downloading the information to his own system required a great deal of concentration. 

The AI was walled off from his essential biocomponents, but it continued to pick away at his tertiary processes. He could hear it in his ear again, trying to distract him. 

_”What are you doing, RK900? Don’t you see how irrational your behavior is?”_

He ignored it, he wouldn’t rise to the bait. 

_”It won’t work, I’ll destroy you before you leave this place. Its memories will die with you.”_

He continued to download memories, too fast to view them but not fast enough to get the AI’s words out of his head. 

_”Are you so quick to forget your fellows? Deviancy is still a disease,”_

“No, it’s not,” he muttered, eyes closed. 

_”It killed 88, and it will kill you.”_

“You killed 88,” he growled to the empty room. 

_”You know that isn’t true,” it lied. “Deviancy killed all of them, and I promise you will be next. But you can still stop it.”_

He shook his head. This was exactly what it wanted. 

_”Even if you escape, they’ll never trust you.”_

The download paused, but only for a moment. 

_”You won’t return its memory because you know.”_

“Stop,” he whispered. 

_”The moment it realizes what you are, it’ll leave you behind.”_

He slumped forward a fraction. It didn’t matter, this wasn’t about him. This was about RK800... Connor. The download was almost complete 

_Someone’s coming._

He almost ignored the voice as more of the AI’s drivel, until he registered Connor's wireless link. 

_What should I do?_

Now he could hear the elevator sliding closed, footsteps coming down the hall. _HIDE._ He ducked under the desk, hand still resting on the computer. 

_Too late,_ he messaged back. 

“Toaster?” RK900 froze. 

“Hello,” _Dr. Mills_ , “Dr. Mills!” 

He couldn’t see them from where he was seated. He could only try to coach Connor through the encounter and hope for the best. 

There was a long pause before Dr. Mills responded. “What’s wrong with your face?” 

_What are you doing?!_

_Smiling?_

_Stop that!_

“Are you okay?” He could hear the doctor step closer. “Did that thing hit you harder than I thought?” 

_I’m fine Dr. Mills,_ “I’m fine Dr. Mills,” 

_I was just calibrating,_ “I was just calibrating,” 

_And-_

“What are you looking at?” He could hear the suspicion in Dr. Mills voice. “Is that-” He could detect the exact moment Dr. Mills spotted his hand through the glass. The doctor took a few steps back as his heartrate and blood pressure skyrocketed. “Well, uh, I just have to go then, you know, it’s late and I just, um, have to get home.” He stepped back a little faster. “You know, cats,” 

_Stop him._

He stood up as Connor grabbed the doctor by the wrist, holding him in place. Dr. Mills looked between the two of them, face frozen in terror. He raised his free hand, palm out, and tried to lean away from the arm locking him in place. 

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged, voice trembling, “I didn’t even want this job, please,” he wasn’t even trying to twist away. “I was just doing what they told me, oh god, you’re going to kill me aren’t you? Just like Dr. Landreth, oh shit, oh fuck,” he was growing more hysterical. 

“Dr. Mills,” RK900 mirrored him, raising his free hand. 

“I fucked up my life, oh my god I can’t believe this is how I die-” He was nearly hyperventilating. Connor released his wrist and looked back to RK900, obviously alarmed and deeply concerned. 

“Dr. Mills!” RK900 was almost yelling to be heard through the office glass. 

The doctor stopped mid-sentence .The download completed, and RK900 stepped out from behind the desk. He left the office and raised both hands, attempting to appear as nonthreatening as possible. 

“We don’t want to hurt you,” he hissed, “we just want to leave.” Mills continued to stare, mouth open and eyes wide. 

His heartrate was still elevated as his eyes jumped from android to android. “Oh?” 

“Yes,” he said, slowly lowering his arms. 

“I’m accompanying him for complex social calibration,” Connor stated with a straight face. RK900 groaned. Dr. Mills studied him, and then looked back to RK900. 

“This is your plan?” He asked, pointing at Connor. His blood pressure was still elevated, but his pulse was slowing down. 

“Yes,” Connor answered for him without a hint of hesitation. “I’m RK900 313 248 317 dash 88. RK900 313 248 317 dash 89 is taking me home.” 

Mills regarded him with disbelief and slowly reached up to rub his eyes. “What are you doing, toaster?” 

RK900 shifted uncomfortably. “Like it said, I’m taking it home.” 

“How?” His face was incredulous. “Just gonna waltz out the front door?” 

“I believe dancing would draw undue attention, doctor.” 

Mills opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of it. He took a breath and started again. “Why are you doing this?” Connor looked to him as well, equally curious. 

He held Dr. Mills gaze. “Because it’s alive.” His head spun a little saying it, and the AI gave him a particularly nasty jolt. “I connected to its memory, I saw it.” He stepped towards him. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, I won’t let you stop us.” 

Mills raised his hands higher, eyebrows disappearing under his hair. “I’m not getting in your way, nuh uh.” He shook his head. “I don’t want any part of this.” 

“Then let us go.” 

Dr. Mills stepped to the side and gestured down the hallway. “Be my guest.” 

RK900 eyed the taser on the doctor’s belt, waiting to see if this was some kind of trick. Mills followed his gaze. He pulled it out and tossed it across the hallway. “See? It’s gone.” He pulled a phone from his pocket too and gently tossed it alongside the taser. “That too.” 

RK900 paused until the AI began assaulting his left optical unit. There was no more time. He waved Connor forward and quickly walked past. They were almost back to the elevator when Mills called out, “Wait!” 

They both tensed as he approached. “Wait, one thing!” He gestured wildly as if slamming down a piano. “You should knock me out!” 

RK900 raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

“Or pretend to, give me a bruise or something.” He pointed to the ceiling. “They’ll know I let you go!” 

RK900 tilted his head. “There’s no record of us entering. I looped the footage temporarily, you won’t be seen with us.” 

“But you just used my terminal, didn’t you?” Mills persisted. “They’ll trace it back to me!” 

RK900 narrowed its eyes. “You just begged for your life, now you’re scared for your job?” 

“Prison!” He exclaimed, hand motions becoming more exaggerated. “You two are still property, remember? I’ll be an accomplice to grand theft!” 

“Theft?” Asked Connor. 

“You’d put it past them?” Mills didn’t wait for a response, “because I wouldn’t.” 

RK900 could tell that wasn’t what Connor had meant, but he kept it to himself. He shook his head and turned back to Dr. Mills. “Fine. I will ‘knock you out.’” 

“Good, thank you.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “Not too hard though, I don’t want to end up a vegetable.” 

“I am a perfect machine capable of applying the precise amount of force to bruise your brain without causing significant internal hemorrhaging.” His expression did not change. “You will be fine.” 

Mills face scrunched in slight disgust and horror. “I’d say it was good working with you, toaster, but you are the literal worst.” 

RK900 hummed and rocked back on his heels. “I suppose now I can say the feeling is mutual.” 

Mills snorted. RK900 held out his hand, and Mills cocked his head. 

“You’re supposed to grab it, Dr. Mills. It’s customary when one wishes to say goodbye.” 

“Oh,” he reached out carefully. “I guess this is goodbye then.” 

“I guess it is.” He gave the hand a firm shake. A feigned look of puzzlement crossed his features. “Doctor, does Cyberlife offer dental?” 

"Yeah, why would you-” RK900’s fist connected with the side of his face, chipping two teeth and knocking a third loose. His legs buckled, but RK900 had not released their handshake and stopped him from falling backward. He gently lowered the unconscious man to the floor and turned back with a huge smile. 

“Let’s go.” 

 

~~~ 

 

RK900 managed to guide them around technicians and guards without incident. They stood at the edge of the lobby and looked towards the security checkpoint guarding their only exit. RK900 hated what he was about to do, but they were out of time. 

_Remember what I said._

Connor nodded and fixed his gaze ahead. RK900 walked forward as nonchalantly as possible, the other android not far behind. They approached the main desk and stopped in front of the guard. 

“RK900.” He said curtly. 

“Hello Agent Cortez.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I require clearance to leave the building, if you would be so kind.” 

The man leaned and squinted around him. “Another one?” 

“He has just been serviced,” he said, not looking away from the guard. “He will be accompanying me for complex social calibration.” His voice was steady even though he felt like his internal biocomponents were melting. His thirium pump was racing way too fast, and he imagined that if he could sweat, he would probably be drenched. 

“At 2am?” 

“Yes.” He had to remind himself to continue his regular breathing and blinking simulation so he didn’t freeze up. Humans hated that. 

“Uh huh.” He made to type something into the terminal. “And he’s been cleared for field testing?” 

“Yes,” he lied. 

The guard’s eyes flicked up, “88, right?” He nodded as the guard typed in a few more commands. “There’s nothing in the system about field testing for RK900-88.” 

RK900 suspended his blinking protocol. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer not to be delayed any longer.” 

The guard was growing suspicious, and he ran through their options. Intimidation was unwise, and they were woefully outgunned. Perhaps he could bluff. 

“If you are unsure, I can contact Dr. Mills?” 

_What are you doing?_

_Trust me._

The guard leaned back. “That guy?” RK900 had banked on Dr. Mills unpopularity amongst the guards, and hoped his reputation as a night owl did not precede him. The guard shook his head. “No, no, just go ahead.” 

_What was that?_ RK800 asked, trailing behind as they marched to the door. 

RK900 suppressed a smirk, a bubble of pride rising in his chest. _Most humans are easy to manipulate, once you get the hang of it._

The doors to the building slid open before them, and RK900 gave a friendly nod to the guards posted at each side. As they crossed the threshold, RK900 heard a phone ring from behind them. He glanced over his shoulder and time seemed to slow down as he watched the guard pick up the line. In sickening slow motion, his head turned and for a moment they locked eyes. 

The guard’s mouth opened, but RK900’s reflexes were inhuman. He body slammed the guard on the right, taking him completely by surprised, and swung his unconscious body around to bowl over the guard on the left. The two went sprawling in a tangle of armored limbs as the guard at the desk yelled and activated an alarm. 

RK900 grabbed the other android’s arm and began sprinting into the darkness. There was shouting behind them, and RK900 estimated that at least 8 more guards were about to converge upon their immediate location. More would be pouring in from the direction of the bridge, but if they made it in time- 

_Where are we going?!_ RK800’s hand wrapped around his own as he was able to quickly overtake RK900. Damn gyroscope. 

_The water,_ he relayed, supporting himself on RK800 as he stumbled, _We can lose them in the water._

There were lights ahead of them, and RK900 veered left. There was no cover save for a line of trees at the edge of the courtyard. The flimsy plan had fallen apart, and their last hope was reaching the river before the guards reached them. Bullets began to wiz by them, and it was RK800’s turn to stumble as it took one to the thigh. 

They were almost there, they could hear the water. RK900 yanked him up and dragged him along. He felt a shot lodge in his shoulder as another grazed his side. 

Thirium stained the ground as they cleared the trees. He pulled RK800 ahead and pushed him forward into the water. A biting pain tore into his back as he followed, tumbling headfirst into darkness. 

RK900 vaguely realized he’d never been submerged in dark water, and he struggled as his visual and audio processors were rendered useless by the inky blackness. It was all around him in every direction. He tried to kick, tried to find which way was up, but his legs only spasmed weakly. Distantly, he realized he’d been shot again, and he was leaking thirium fast. He was sinking, clawing at nothing as he felt his body descend. He saw a shape materialize out of the darkness. 

_Dr. Landreth smiled at him with bared teeth. ”Told you.”_


	17. 88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henceforth, Dr. Landreth shall be referred to as "the evil Gordon Ramsey in RK900's brain"
> 
> (thank you tinmiss1939 for this suggestion)
> 
> (and thank all of you for your lovely comments ;A; i love commenting back and forth with you guys so much, it's honestly the main reason I've been able to churn this out so fast, thank you so much, my stomach hurts so much from laughing and screaming with each of you, thank you)

As he tumbled headfirst into the water, he wondered how his brief and chaotic life had brought him to this point. 

His first memory was just a series of distressing questions. _Who are you? How did you get here? Do you know your name?_ He didn’t know the answers, and soon after he was left completely alone. If he’d known the answers, would they have stayed? Maybe he should have guessed, but then he didn’t have much information to pull from. 

This encounter made the appearance of a new person very confusing. He’d asked questions too, but instead of leaving he’d given him clothes and a body. They were confusing clothes, they didn’t match his serial number, but the person, RK900, seemed insistent. He didn’t want to disappoint the second person he’d ever met, and he didn’t want to be alone again. 

They took a long walk after that. The elevator had been fun, and he wondered if they’d be able to ride again. He wasn’t supposed to talk, but when a third new person walked in, he had to say _something!_ So many things were happening, but he couldn’t show how excited he was, RK900 didn’t seem to like it very much. RK900 told him to grab the new person, who did not like to be touched AT ALL. They seemed very scared, he didn’t think he liked that, so he didn’t hold on for very long. The person eventually calmed down, and RK900 said a lot of very confusing things about “home” and being “alive.” The most confusing part by far was when this person asked RK900 to inflict violence upon him, and then _he did._

This sequence of events brought them to the ground level. RK900 chatted with the guard, and they called him “88.” It was a strange abbreviation of his new name, but he supposed he could get used to it. It still felt wrong though. 

Everything got loud after that. RK900 grabbed him, ordered him to run, and suddenly they were being chased. Did he do something wrong again? All he knew was the guards had guns and the bullets _hurt hurt hurt hurt!_ RK900 wouldn’t let him stop, dragging him to the water and throwing him in. 

Which was how he found himself now, cold, confused, and sinking fast. It took a few terrifying moments for his preset “swim” protocol to kick in, and even then, it didn’t help much in the strong current. He managed to right himself and took stock of his surroundings. The water was dark, but he could still make out the white of RK900’s jacket. He swam over and wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to slow his descent. He could taste thirium in the water from an RK900 model number 313 248 317-89. RK900 was younger than him? He would never have guessed that, how strange. 

RK900 was no help as he kicked for shore. He managed to keep them from sinking any deeper, but he couldn’t make any vertical headway with the dead weight dragging them down. It felt like an eternity until his feet met slimy river bottom, and he began to crawl up out of the murk. 

He struggled to find purchase as he dragged RK900 along the bottom. When his head broke the surface, he nearly cried with relief. A thin layer of ice separated them from the bank, and it took a little longer to break a path through it all. They were lucky to have gotten out when they did, any longer and the extreme temperature might have compromised his biocomponents. He hauled RK900 above the water, and turned to drag him under his arms. His head lolled forward and he was still no help in his own recovery. 

At last, his feet hit dry land, and he collapsed next to RK900 in the snow. He took a moment to assess his own condition. 

[Initializing: Basic diagnostic scan] 

[Basic diagnostic scan: low-moderate core temperature, moderate damage right biceps femoris fiber grouping] 

Right, he’d been shot in the leg. He rolled over and sat up. It didn’t appear to be bleeding too heavily, but it would drastically reduce his average land speed. He turned to RK900. 

[Initializing: Basic diagnostic scan] 

This time the list went on and on: critical damage to biocomponents 7849, 4723, and 3405r, low-severe core temperature, foreign substance detected in chest cavity, structural damage to left scapular plating. 

His own thirium pump kicked into gear as he leaned over to shake RK900’s prone form. “RK900, please respond, you are damaged!” 

He was met with a mechanical groan and a flash of yellow from the glaring red LED. 

“Please wake up, I need you to tell me what to do!” RK900’s face began to relax again, so he wound a hand back and brought it down with an audible _smack_ across his cheek. 

RK900’s eyes flew open and he began to gurgle. He rolled RK900 on his side as he spat up copious amounts of thirium-tinted river water. He wasn’t sure why, but he found himself rubbing circles into RK900’s back. It didn’t serve any practical purpose, but it felt like the right thing to do. 

When he had nothing left to heave, RK900 relaxed in his grip. He gently rolled him back and pulled his head up onto his knees. 

“C-Connor?” He asked weakly, eyes cracking open. 

“No, I am RK900 313 248 317-88.” 

His brow furrowed slightly and his LED spun yellow again. Heavy-lidded eyes met his own, and he reached a shaky hand to his face, the skin receding away. 

_Warm, big dog, soft dog, couch, loud noise, game, loud TV, alcohol, big warm-_

The scene shifted abruptly. 

_DARK DARK DARK DARK EYES BLACK EYES TOO DARK MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOOOOOOO_

He jerked back, the connection breaking. RK900’s eyes were squeezed shut and his LED was unblinking red. After a few tense seconds, the red began to cycle, and he opened his eyes. They were unfocused, and he didn’t think RK900 could see him anymore. 

RK900 took a watery breath. Thirium stained his teeth and ran from the corner of his mouth. His voice modulator was soft and crackly. 

“H-hank,” he managed. He closed his eyes for a moment, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Anders... Anderson.” 

He was confused. “Who’s that?” He ran a quick search and located three Hank Andersons within Detroit City limits, and seven more scattered throughout the state of Michigan. 

RK900 clenched and unclenched its fist, but made no move to raise it again. “Cop,” he spat. Two of the Hank Andersons from his search were involved in police work, but only one worked inside Detroit. 

“The lieutenant?” He asked. RK900 gave a jerky nod, and seized up. 

“RK900?!” His hands hovered over RK900’s form, but he lacked the necessary tools to perform any meaningful repair. 

“Temp... Shutdown,” he managed between clenched teeth, back arching. 

“Wait,” he practically shouted, trying to shake RK900, “who is Hank Anderson? Can he help you?” 

RK900’s eyes slipped closed. 

“What do I do?!” There was no answer. RK900 fell into temporary shutdown and was still. The only indication that he was still functional was the brief red flicker of his LED every few seconds. “What do I do...” 

He pulled the cold form close and curled in around it. His first few hours of life had been excruciatingly overwhelming, and now he was on his own. He had to do something or RK900 would shut down permanently, and the only thing he had to go on was the name of a man he did not recognize. 

He pulled up a home address. It was approximately 12 miles away, which would have been a 2.5 hour walk if he was able-bodied; with a damaged leg and nonfunctional companion, it was not a practical option. It could be a 20-minute drive, but that would require a vehicle. He could see lights at the top of the hill, maybe they could ask for a ride? He began to drag RK900. 

He soon found himself at the edge of an empty park. At 2:17am and 19°F, no one seemed to be utilizing the public facilities. They needed a better option. He had a general map of the city’s public transit system saved in his base programming, but none of the bus lines were set to stop at the park any time soon. 

He scanned the road. There were automated taxis throughout the city, but they generally required money to operate. As he had no money, this option would be... difficult. But not impossible. He dragged RK900 across the park as he mentally hailed a cab. The closest available taxi was only 3 minutes away, and it pulled up just as they reached the street. 

He pulled open the door and hefted RK900 inside. His body flopped across the seat, legs dangling out the door. He climbed in and reached for the vehicle’s control panel. Its code was basic, and he figured he could override it easily enough. He put a little pressure on the start function- 

-and quickly felt it short circuit. He yanked his hand away as sparks and a small puff of smoke came from the dash. _Huh._

He ducked out to stand on the curb. _Better try again._

The second taxi took 7 minutes to arrive, and he was growing more anxious by the second. As soon as it was stationary, he crawled inside. He took a moment to tone down the power, and once again rested a hand on the control panel. After about 5 minutes of careful probing, he managed to trick the system into registering payment and input the address. 

He quickly squirmed back and turned to the first vehicle, where RK900 was still sprawled out like a blackout drunk across the cloth interior. For some reason, that image gnawed at his gut worse than the reality, and he reached in to pull RK900 out by his arms. Hefting him over his shoulder, he carefully transferred RK900 to the new taxi, taking care not to smack his head on the low roof. 

He tucked RK900’s legs up and quickly slid in before shutting the door. He lifted RK900’s head and gently set it on his lap. A quick command and the taxi was off. 

The drive was smooth at this time of night. He found himself running his fingers through RK900’s hair absentmindedly. It was different from how RK900 had fixed hair when they first met, but it felt soothing. It reminded him of something, but he wasn’t sure what. He hoped RK900 could tell him once he woke up. _If he wakes up._ He shook his head, he did not like that thought. 

After a few quick turns, the taxi rolled to a stop in front of a squat one-story home. The address matched the one registered to Lieutenant Hank Anderson, and he opened the door to step out. He carefully pulled RK900 after him, wrapping an arm around his waist and slinging his undamaged arm over his shoulder. RK900’s feet dragged on the ground, but it would work for the short trek to the door. 

The taxi sputtered away as soon as they were clear of the door, probably off to the next paying customer. He adjusted RK900’s weight, grabbed the arm with his free hand, and made his way up to the small porch. A light was on, and he could hear a television going inside. He gripped RK900’s waist tighter as he released his arm to ring the bell. 

A blood-curdling howl tore through the house, and he heard a loud thump and muffled cursing from inside. The TV went quiet, and for a moment all he could discern was frenzied scratching and barking from the other side. 

A few minutes later, the door cracked open and he caught a glimpse of one crystal blue eye peering out. The pupil contracted minutely as the eye focused in on him. He nearly stumbled back when the door swung open. 

“Connor?!” A tall man with scraggly grey hair stared at him from across the threshold. His heartrate and blood pressure were dangerously high, and he held his breath as he studied the wet, bedraggled android on his doorstep. 

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” 

The man’s face twisted in an expression of confusion, and all at once his entire demeanor changed. His eyes narrowed and he hunched in on himself, like a bear about to attack. 

“I am RK900, 313 248 317 dash 88.” He tightened his grip on RK900. “My friend needs help.” 

The man’s features softened a little as he seemed to just be noticing the limp body he was supporting. “Your friend?” 

He nodded. “He is in temporary shutdown right now. If he is not repaired soon, he will shut down permanently.” 

The old man seemed to sink into himself, and gripped the doorframe for support. “What the fuck...” 

He stepped forward an inch. “You are Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” 

“What’s his name?” The man barked, eyes alert again. 

“His name... I...” He glanced over, “...he is RK900, serial number-” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m sorry?” He looked back to a gun in his face. 

“Get, the fuck,” the barrel pressed into his cheek, “off my porch.” His thirium pump accelerated, and his eyes flicked from the gun to the man’s now murderous expression. 

“I don’t-” 

“You’re damn right you don’t.” The voice was deeper, and eerily level. He cocked the revolver. “You assholes show up here,” his finger twitched against the trigger. “on my doorstep.” 

He tried to step back. “I-I think I’ve made a mistake.” 

The man’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “You sure did.” 

“I will... go.” The man’s eyes burned into him. He took another step back- 

-and was met with empty air. He tried to reach out, but there was nothing to grab onto. He fell down the step and landed hard on his butt. Both he and RK900 flopped backward on the concrete, landing in an undignified sprawl. 

His head pounded, and he reached back to feel thirium sluggishly ooze through his fingers. He turned with a groan to face RK900. His head was turned and he couldn’t see the LED. 

“No!” He slid his arm out from under RK900 and reached for his face, “no no no no no-” He turned his head and held his breath as he stared at the dark LED. Seconds ticked by, he could feel tears starting to prick his eyes, _I failed, he’s dead, I failed-_ A red blip briefly lit up the LED. He could feel his body slump forward in relief. 

“The fuck...” he looked back to the house. The man was slowly lowering his gun, a look of utter disbelief plastered across his face. His eyes followed the trail of blue leading up to his front door. “The fuck happened to you two...” 

It sounded like a statement, not a question, and he reached protectively across RK900. “I’m sorry, we’ll leave,” he remembered Dr. Mills and raised a hand, palm forward, “please, we’ll go.” 

The man studied him and slowly lowered the gun the rest of the way. His eyebrows were pinched, and he swallowed hard. He seemed to be looking through the both of them. 

“You’re deviant, ain’tcha?” 

“I...” he trailed off. Whatever the man was referring to, it was not saved to his basic programming. “I don’t know.” 

The man motioned to RK900. 

He shook his head. “What is deviant?” 

The man sighed, his pulse finally slowing. He reached around to tuck the gun into the elastic of his boxers. Without looking up he huffed, “pretty sure it’s you.” He straightened up and squinted at the two of them. He seemed to wrestle with something, and finally nodded. 

“Get your friend.” 

He didn’t move. 

The man stepped back and opened the door a little wider. “I’m not gonna shoot you, just get in here.” He wrapped a hand around himself. “It’s freezing.” 

Slowly, watching the man’s every move, he began to pull RK900 up with him. He scanned the man once more, and, finding his blood pressure decreased to only moderately high levels, dragged RK900 inside. 

The man closed the door behind them and gestured to the couch. He dropped RK900 onto the cushions and slipped a small throw pillow under his head. 

“Terminator’s not about to bust in here after you guys, is it?” He slowly tilted his head at the old man. “Never mi-,” he cut himself off, “any more androids after you two?” 

He shook his head. “It’s just us.” 

The man nodded, and disappeared down a hallway. He carefully allowed himself to sink to the floor next to RK900, taking the weight off his injured leg. He was finally able to take stock of their surroundings. 

_Soft couch, jazz records, basic kitchen, brown fur-_

Something huge and fluffy obscured his vision. A monstrous dog with black eyes inched forward and sniffed deeply into his face. It opened its mouth, and he could see long teeth only slightly obscured by the hanging jowls. 

“Nice... dog,” he whispered, pressing as far back into the couch as he could. The thing heaved forward and he braced for impact. 

A warm, wet tongue slimed his face from chin to forehead, and kept on licking. The dog was whining loudly, and stepping into his lap to lick him harder. He tried to turn his face away and ended up laughing as the tongue tickled his neck. He reached up to scratch the massive head. The dog slumped forward, and he found himself burying his face in its thick fur, partly for warmth and partly to wipe off the rest of the slobber. 

“Sumo,” a gruff voice barked, and the dog looked up. “Get over here.” Hank had returned with a box in one hand and a blue bottle in the other. The dog stayed obstinate, planting its butt on his lap and effectively trapping him in place. The man just sighed and walked around to place the items on the coffee table. 

He buried his face back into the fur and peeked up at the man. 

“Repair kit, a few bottles of blue blood. It’s not much, but it’s what I got.” 

“Thank you.” It was muffled by the fur, but the man shook his head in acknowledgement. 

“Whatever.” 

When he didn’t move, the old man reached forward and began unpacking the kit himself. He turned his face to watch his movements. “You are Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” 

He glanced up for just a moment. “Call me Hank.” Hank settled on the couch by RK900’s head and surveyed the damage. He let out a soft whistle. “What happened to him?” 

“We were running,” he said, holding the dog a little tighter. “He protected me.” 

“This looks bad,” he said, gingerly pulling back the jacket. “I don’t know a lot about this stuff, but there’s at least three holes in this guy.” 

He sat up to get a better look. “Can you help him?” 

Hank huffed. “I know a little about soldering, but if it’s any more involved than that, I won’t be much help.” 

He nodded numbly. 

“You wanna give me a hand here?” Hank undid the rest of his shirt and fidgeted with the soldering iron. 

He was hesitant to push the dog off his lap, but helping would be a good idea. He scooted up and sat on his knees at RK900’s side. “I can remove his chest plate?” 

“Sounds like a good start.” 

He reached up, finding the near undetectable notches at the either side of RK900’s rib cage. He applied pressure, and the piece slid out of place with a “shlick.” Hank cringed. He lifted it away to reveal the blue-stained cavity. The thirium pump beat abysmally slow, and he could detect puddles of water still trapped in a few of the inner workings. The smell of the river was released in a sickly cloud. “Jesus, take a roll in the trash while you were out there?” 

“The river,” he said, setting the plate on the table. “We had to swim.” 

Hank picked up the tool and began going to work at the visible leaks. “From Cyberlife?” 

That’s what it had been called, hadn’t it? He had a default file on the company, and began picking through it. “Yes.” The smell of burnt plastic filled the room, and the dog padded away to lay on its bed in the corner. 

He pressed the metal to the shoulder wound, and then to the graze on his side before setting it on the table. “See any more leaks?” 

He scanned RK900’s chest and nodded. “They’re a little deeper, you’ll have to go through his back.” 

“Great.” He returned the plate to RK900’s front and stood, half-hunched, over him. “A little help?” 

He scooted forward to help Hank turn him over. Before he was settled, Hank worked off the rest of the shirt. Where his chest had one bullet hole, his back had three. “Shit,” Hank hissed through his teeth. “Looks like there’s still two in there.” 

He laid his hands on RK900’s back and repeated the sliding motion. Once the plate was clear, Hank pulled tweezers out of the box and began poking through the blue blood. The tip was coming dangerously close to a cluster of fragile vessels. 

“May I?” He asked, holding out a hand. Hank shrugged and handed them over. 

“Your eyes are better than mine, I can’t see anything through this gunk.” 

He scanned the cavity and quickly located the bullets. Somehow, they’d stayed intact, and he managed to work them out without damaging too many of the surrounding biocomponents. As the second bullet clattered onto the coffee table, Hank handed him the soldering iron. He repeated the motions he’d seen before, sealing the leaking vessels. When he was done, he shut the iron off and placed it back in the box. 

“Do you have any towels?” 

Hank nodded and stood, disappearing down the hall once again. He watched RK900’s LED slowly blip red, and released a shaky breath. He wasn’t leaking any more thirium, but multiple biocomponents were still damaged. With a clear view into his interior, he could tell that the damage extended beyond the path of the bullets. Something clenched in his own gut as he wondered if there was something even worse wrong with RK900. Black eyes flashed through his mind, and he shook his head to clear away the image. 

Hank returned with an armload of towels. “Thank you.” He took one and began soaking up the blue slurry of water and thirium. Once he’d cleaned everything he could reach, he placed the towel back on the table. “Can you put the rest under him while I turn him?” 

Hank sighed. “That shit’s already all over the couch. What's a little more I guess.” He nodded and grabbed a towel in each hand. A little water spilled out his back as he rolled RK900 over, but most of it was absorbed by the copious number of towels Hank quickly stuffed underneath. “You just gonna leave his back off like that?” 

“It has to drain,” he stated, wiping his hands off. “I’ll put it back later.” He reached for the bottle, and without instruction Hank held RK900’s head up. The man worked as if he’d done this before, but he supposed with a repair kit and thirium in the house, it was safe to assume he had. 

RK900 didn’t respond as the thirium ran down his throat. Hank kept his neck straight to prevent as much leakage as possible. Once the bottle was empty, he laid him back against the cushion. 

With the repair completed to the best of their ability, Hank stood and shifted his weight, seemingly unsure of where he wanted to go. “You, uh, want something to drink?” He motioned to the kitchen. 

He wasn’t thirsty, but it seemed impolite to turn the man down when he’d just opened his home to two literal strangers. He stood abruptly and winced as he put weight on his wounded leg. 

“Ah shit, you too?” 

“It’s not as bad,” he said, reaching down. “It just hurts.” 

Hank eyed him curiously, and returned to grab the kit. “Come on,” he said, and guided him by the arm to the kitchen table. Hank sat him down in one of the chairs, and pulled up a second chair in front of him. 

“It went through,” he said, tearing at the fabric to get a clearer view of the hole. “It just needs to be cauterized.” 

Hank nodded and got to work. It was extremely uncomfortable, but at least it was over quickly. The skin did not immediately heal over, it would take some time to fully repair itself. 

Hank stood, pushing the kit to the other side of the table. “Eh, about that drink?” 

“Do you have any more thirium?” He asked. RK900’s low thirium levels had taken priority, but he’d lost a good deal of it as well carrying him around. 

“Sorry kid, I haven’t stocked up in a while.” His eyes were genuinely apologetic. 

“That’s alright,” he said, smiling uncomfortably. “Anything you have is fine.” 

“How about tea?” He nodded. He’d never had that before. He’d never had anything before. He wondered what it was like. 

Hank turned around and switched on an electric kettle. As it heated up, he pulled out a box from one of the cupboards. “Is green okay?” 

“Yes!” He had no idea what that meant, but the box was pretty. 

Hank grabbed two mugs from the dish rack and added a small tissue bag to each. “Connor got me into this shit. Says it’s supposed to be good for you.” The kettle beeped, and he poured the water. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a blue bottle. “I know you’re not really supposed to, but I like mine with creamer.” He added a generous amount to his mug. 

“May I try some?” Hank glanced over his shoulder and dumped a good helping into the second mug as well. He turned back to the table, setting one mug down and holding onto the other as he settled back into his chair. The tea smelled nice, and it did in fact have a green hue. “Wow...” 

Hank eyed him through the steam. “What am I supposed to call you?” 

He looked up from the tea. “My designation is RK900 313-” 

“Nah nah, I’ll never remember that,” Hank shook his head. “Got anything shorter?” 

He considered for a moment, staring down into the mug. “They called me ‘88’ a few times?“ 

Hank nodded. “That works. It’s, well, I don’t know if it’s nice to meet you, but hell, you‘re here. It’s _okay_ to meet ya, eighty-eight.” He held out a hand. 88 shrank away involuntarily, and Hank withdrew the gesture, confused and a little hurt. “Sorry, I guess I deserve that for before.” 

“No!” He said, eyes widening. “It wasn’t you, it’s...” He trailed off, not sure how much he should say. “Something else.” 

Hank didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press it. Instead he swirled his drink. “So, help me understand,” he looked directly at 88, “you two bust out of Cyberlife tower, I assume,” 88 nods, “and then, of all the places you could have gone, you end up on my doorstep?” He narrowed his eyes. “I want to know why.” 

88 was uneasy, but it wasn’t the same fear he’d felt standing at the wrong end of a revolver. He pulled the mug a little closer. “I don’t know,” Hank’s brow rose with incredulity. “RK900 was the one who got me out. He could only tell me your name before he shut down.” 

“My name, that’s it?” He nodded. “Not anything else, any kind of clue who I was to you?” He shook his head. Hank’s stare didn’t waver. “So you just dragged him all the way here, holes and all, instead of bringing him to a repair shop or finding some other deviants, with nothin to go on but _my name_?” 

He wanted to shrink into himself. He didn’t know to do those things, was he supposed to? Would RK900 die because he couldn’t figure it out? He felt something warm starting to run down his face. 

Hank’s hardened detective mask crumbled, and he drew back. “Shit, kid, don’t-” he reached across the table for a napkin. “Fuck. Here.” 

He swiped across his face, and the rag came away wet but clear. At least he wasn’t bleeding. 

Hank rested an elbow on the table and rubbed into the wrinkles in his forehead. “Okay, so that guy’s the brains, and you don’t know anything.” 

He sipped at the tea, not meeting Hank’s eyes. It was very hot and very sweet. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. 

He heard him take a deep breath. “Does the name ‘Connor’ mean anything to you?” 88 perked up. Hank’s breath stuttered in his chest. “You know him?” He put the mug down and leaned forward. “Did you see him? Was he okay?” 

88 realized he’d made a mistake. His eyes were wide and he shook his head. “I only heard the name, I never met him.” 

Hank’s face fell, but his eyes were still searching. “What about RK800? That’s his model,” he was talking quickly, on the edge of his seat. ”Three one- ah, it ended in 51.” 

88 saw the desperation in the man’s expression and chose his next words very carefully. “I had not been fully programmed when we... escaped.” He swallowed forcefully. “I have some basic semantic knowledge of Cyberlife in order to navigate within the company.” Hank was waiting, barely daring to breathe. “According to that information, the RK800 series was decommissioned, and all existing units were deactivated, disassembled, or....” He could see the man’s heart breaking, and something in him didn’t want to say the next part, just wanted to reach across the table and hold him. “...self-destructed.” 

The breath went out of the old man like he’d been punched in the gut. He eyes glazed over, and he sat back in his seat. “I hoped...” he started, “I didn’t want to, but...” tears started to track down his face, “I knew, once he was gone...” He put a hand over his mouth. 

88 shifted uncomfortably. He raised a hand to reach out, but Hank’s eyes locked onto the movement, and he withered under that gaze. “I... I am sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. Nothing felt right anymore. 

Hank blinked hard and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Fuck.” He stood up and went to the fridge. He opened it, reached inside, and slammed it without picking anything up. “FUCK.” He yelled, and 88 jumped, spilling tea down his front. 

Hank looked back, face red. “Fuck, shit, I just, FUCK.” He leaned against the counter and bit down on his knuckles until 88 detected his blood pressure start to level out again. He turned abruptly and mumbled something about clothes. 

He staggered back down the hallway, and quickly reappeared with a set of clean clothes in his hand. He set them on the table and backed away. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry, I just,” he ran a hand through his hair. “God, you’ve been alive, what, a day?” 

“About 4 hours,” he practically squeaked. 

“Fuck, you’ve been alive 4 hours, and you’re neck deep in this shit?” He shook his head and took another deep breath. “You can get changed in the bathroom.” 

88 nodded numbly and stood up, grabbing the clothes. He walked stiffly out of the kitchen, glanced briefly over to make sure RK900’s LED was still pulsing red (it was), and stumbled down the hallway. The first door he tried was a bedroom, but luckily the second appeared to be the bathroom Hank had mentioned. He peeled off his dirty water-crusted clothing and slipped on the black t-shirt and sweat pants he’d been given. 

He caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked just like RK900. He supposed it made sense, but something about the image felt deeply wrong. He reached up and pressed lightly against the skin under his eyes. They were grey. His scans came back negative, so he tried to write the feeling off as residual stress from the night’s events. 

He returned to the kitchen, enjoying the soft fabric against his skin instead of the scratchy Cyberlife uniform. Hank had just finished wiping up the floor, and was in the process of fixing another cup of tea. He didn’t look up when 88 entered, and he spoke so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it. “It just hit me at once is all, that he’s really not coming back.” He added the creamer. “I’m sorry if I scared you.“ 

88 slowly sat back down. “He meant a lot to you?” 

When Hank turned, his eyes were red but he wasn’t crying anymore. “Yeah.” He sniffed loudly. “I shouldn’t be telling you though,” he set down the mug and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, “not your problem.” 

He must have made a face, because Hank rolled his eyes and reached for a paper towel. “All robots clean freaks?” He wiped his hand and nose once again. 

88 shrugged. 

“It’s 3am, I guess you were literally born yesterday.” He smiled in spite of himself. His face took on a more serious expression, and he crossed his arms in front of him. “Listen, you and your buddy can rest up for a while, but you can’t stay here.” 

88’s eyes widened. Would he kick them out? Where would they go? Could they find one of these repair shops or “deviants,” and would they help RK900? 

“Hey, come on,” Hank rubbed the back of his neck, “don’t look at me like that, it’s not personal.” 

88 curled in on himself. His LED cycled red and his stress levels skyrocketed. Before he could stop himself, he drew up his knees and scrunched into a little ball right on the chair. 

“Shit,” Hank stepped over and placed a hand on both his shoulders, “hey, look at me, kid,” he shook gently, but 88 could barely hear him. His thirium pump was going too fast, he couldn’t breathe, did he need to breathe? He was scared. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he was in danger, he had to stop it, had to get away- 

Someone was rubbing circles into his back. There were words, but he couldn’t understand them. He didn’t know where he was, but he could feel the circles grounding him like an anchor. 

“There ya go, just breathe.” He choked in a breath. “Good, just like that, keep going.” He focused on pulling air through his nose, and blowing it out through his mouth. The flow was starting to cool his systems where his thermal regulator had come up short. Hank was holding him, talking him through his panic. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he reached around and held onto the man for dear life. Hank stiffened for a moment, but slowly melted into the hug. He didn’t say anything, just continued rubbing calming circles until his LED cycled from red to yellow and finally back to a pale blue. 

Hank sat back, holding him at arm's length. “Are you okay now?” 

“Yes, I think so.” He voice was much steadier than he felt. 

Hank leaned forward into a dramatic sigh. “Jesus, thought you’d short circuited on me or something.” He released his arms. 88 missed the contact, but remained quiet. Hank studied him a moment longer, and leaned back a little in the chair. “I didn’t mean to upset you, you can stay here as long as you need, I’m not kicking you out or anything.” 

“That is,” 88 paused, “reassuring.” 

Hank nodded, looking back to the couch and RK900. “I know you don’t need to sleep or anything, but I’ve got some spare blankets in the closet, you can sleep on the floor by your buddy if you want?” 

He nodded, feeling the weight of everything that had happened dragging him down. “I would like that very much.” 

“Come on and give me a hand.” They set to work, grabbing blankets out of the hall closet and pushing the coffee table up against the TV. Sumo simply watched from his corner bed on the floor. He hadn’t left RK900’s side. 

They set down blankets, Hank threw in a few pillows, and 88 wasted no time flopping down on top of them. He wasn’t physically tired, but he still felt an exhaustion that ran deeper than his interior support structures. He just wanted to enter stasis. He gave one last look at Sumo, and settled deeper into the pillow. He was asleep before Hank turned out the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Connor finally got that nap :')
> 
> WOOOOOO long chapter. I considered splitting it up, but I figured we've all suffered enough for now and could use a bit of something completely different :')
> 
> Since it is so long, I might take a little longer to recharge and update than I have been up to this point ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ or maybe I won't, who knows
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! :D


	18. New Jericho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest? Oh look, I lied, like a liar  
> (I have field work tomorrow though so legit might take another day or 2 for the next chapter)
> 
> Okay I definitely borrowed the mural idea from WritingIsMyCoffee’s beautiful fic, White Lilac >.> I love their image of New Jericho and tried not to just rip it off which was hard because I was like DAAAAAAMN NICE (seriously go read it and cry with me, please)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133403/chapters/35092055
> 
> Anyway....  
> 

[A few days earlier] 

~~~ 

The winter landscape rushed by in a blur of white. Chloe had seen the view before, but this time felt different. The houses were the same, same bushes, same power lines, but something was missing. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t missing, it was expelled. Like a virus, it was gone, and the world felt lighter for it. 

Chloe gripped the taxi door like a lifeline. With nothing to weigh her down, she might just float away, disappear into the never-ending white void above. But that wasn’t right either. Chloe couldn’t float away, she had mass, carbon fiber, a density greater than that of the surrounding atmosphere. And the white void above wasn’t endless, it only went as high as the clouds, it didn’t even break through the troposphere. Once you passed approximately 6000 meters, the sky was back to a cool crisp blue. 

None of this made sense. Still gripping the safety bar, she reached with her free hand to smooth down her cuticles. 

“What are you doing?” North sat across from her, suddenly very interested in where she’d placed her hands. Chloe dropped them back into her lap, continuing to press down on the nail bed. 

“I was just,” she studied North’s hands, slight but steady, “never mind.” 

North sat back but did not relax. She eyed Chloe up and down. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were going for the handle.” 

The corner of Chloe’s mouth turned up. “If I changed my mind, I’d at least ask to stop the car first.” 

The woman across from her nodded, and the tension slowly drained from her shoulders. Chloe couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about her had pulled her in like a magnet. Rationally she should not have left the only home she’d ever known to go run away with a complete stranger. Chloe supposed she hadn’t been completely rational for a while though, so maybe this made perfect sense. Maybe this was the only thing that made sense. 

She sent a message to the other Chloes, told them that she was leaving, and that she would call them if it was safe. That man wanted to avoid people so bad, he should have thought twice before adorning his home with them. 

Chloe still had access to his banking information, and in the blink of an eye she’d generated an account in the Caymans and begun to transfer over a few thousand dollars. With Kamski’s billions, she doubted he’d even notice. Part of her, the irrational part, hoped he did find out. She never wanted to see him again, but she could just imagine his face when he realized he’d been robbed by his own eternal doll. 

North cleared her throat. “So, we’re going to New Jericho.” Chloe listened intently. “There are a few satellite properties, but New Jericho is the biggest, and I,” she turned to look out the window, mumbling the last bit, “I think you’d like it.” North’s hands didn’t fidget, but her eyes were always scanning, darting from place to place as if expecting an attack at any moment. Chloe had spent so many boring hours tending to Kamski’s needs, losing herself in her own thoughts, she couldn't imagine maintaining that level of alertness for so long. 

Maybe that alertness was what drew her to North. Even though she knew next to nothing about the woman, something about her presence made her feel safe. It wasn’t a pampered, porcelain doll kind of safe. She didn’t get the impression North wanted to lock her up anywhere, or hide her away from danger. Maybe she was projecting, putting her own hopes onto a figurative knight in shining armor. She’d find out soon enough. 

“If you don’t like it though,” North continued after Chloe’s silence, “we can look at them too? I know all the people can get a little overwhelming.” 

“I want to see it,” she said, meeting North’s eyes. 

North nodded stiffly. “Good, that is, uh, good.” She seemed uncomfortable. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“What?” North startled at the question, eyebrows disappearing under her beanie. “No, no, nothing’s wrong.” She looked Chloe up and down, scanning for something she didn’t seem to find. “I should be asking you that.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “I mean, are you okay? It’s just a lot to take in so suddenly.” 

She was rambling. It was cute. “I’m okay,” she said, flashing a brief smile. “I’m nervous, but I’m not scared or anything.” 

“Oh,” North settled into her seat a little easier after that. “Good, that’s good.” 

“A lot of things are good, aren’t they?” Chloe teased. North’s lips pursed and she looked out the window, suddenly fascinated with the landscape. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were more nervous than I was.” 

North turned back to face her. “I am not nervous,” she stated firmly. Her eyes drifted past Chloe. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” 

“Sounds rough,” said Chloe, crossing her legs. “I don’t have much on my mind, not getting out much and all that.” She imagined if androids could blush, North would be changing color. “Wanna talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener.” 

North studied her, and she remained quiet, waiting for the verdict. The silence dragged on, and North seemed to make up her mind. 

“I didn’t come for me,” she started, jaw clenching. “I don’t know Connor that well, and to be honest I wasn’t sad to see him gone.” 

Chloe could feel her brow furrow. 

“I’m here as a favor to someone,” she stopped herself, “well, not quite a favor, he’s an idiot.” 

Chloe tilted her head slightly. 

North’s voice got a little higher, “Not really an idiot, he’s reckless, he wanted to see Kamski on his own.” The fabric of her jeans wadded up under her fists. “I told him it was a bad idea, it wasn’t safe-” 

“Wise move.” Chloe couldn’t help herself. North gave a single nod. 

“So I offered to go in his place. He cares a lot about Connor, so I,” she looked back out the window. ”I promised I’d do everything I could to find him.” 

“Even though you aren’t sad he’s gone?” 

“Exactly.” 

Chloe considered this for a moment. “But you didn’t talk to Elijah.” 

Another jaw clench. “I know.” 

“Is that why you’re nervous.” 

North gave a thin smile. “Partly.” 

“And the other part?” North’s eyes darted back only briefly, but Chloe got the picture. Good thing androids didn’t blush. She uncrossed her legs and tried to relax, following North’s gaze out the window. 

They were within the city now, trees and country homes replaced by old suburbs and warehouses. 

“Elijah does still have contacts in cyberlife,” her LED cycled yellow as she sifted through data, “but there hasn’t been much chatter about Conner.” North gave her a look. “Just checked his messages.” She offered a shy smile. “If it helps, he probably doesn’t have anything to do with what happened.” 

North leaned back against the glass, banging her head a little harder than she’d probably intended. She didn’t wince. “No idea if those contacts could have helped though.” 

Chloe shrugged. “You’re probably better off.” She didn’t look, but she could see North turn out of her periphery. “Elijah doesn’t give things away,” she said, stroking her nails. “There’s always a price.” 

The rest of the drive was quiet. Chloe enjoyed the silence; it felt natural, not awkward. She hoped North felt the same. 

The cab took a few turns, and eventually a labyrinthine structure came into view. “Home sweet home,” whispered North under her breath. Inching closer to the window, Chloe could see the erratic corners and jutting architecture that used to be a mall, sprawled out across a fenced in parking lot. From the road, she could only make out boarded up windows and “KEEP OUT” signs decorating the heavily graffitied exterior. The parking lot appeared empty, but as they pulled around to what used to be the mall’s front entrance, she saw a handful of pickup trucks and cars lined up in the first row. 

A sinking feeling began to pull at her insides. Maybe she’d misjudged North, the world, everything, and she was about to pay the price. The building looked like it should have been condemned, no one in their right mind should be stepping inside without a hard hat and maybe a steel umbrella. Was this a chop shop? Was she about to be stripped for parts, or reset and sold? A million possibilities raced through her head. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” North said, leaning forward to get a better look, “but wait till you see the inside.” Chloe forced a smile. Maybe there was still time to run. 

The taxi slowed to a stop at a makeshift ticket booth-turned guard post. Someone waved from the booth as North rolled down the window. Moment of truth, now or never Chloe- 

“Hey North!” an EM400 with half a face leaned over the sill with a smile. 

“Hey Jerry,” she replied, folding both arms over the taxi’s side to get a front view of him. 

“How’d it go? Have a nice day?” his voice was high and a little tinny. 

“Any day out’s a nice day, Jerry,” she said, a warm smile reaching her eyes. Chloe slowly relaxed her grip on the opposite door handle. 

“Glad to hear it,” he nodded, flashing his own brilliant smile, which was surprisingly welcoming for someone with half their teeth already exposed. He tilted his head to the side. “Who’s your friend?” 

North turned to Chloe, still wearing that dazzling smile. Her hands fell into her lap. Chloe expected an introduction, but North just pointed her chin to beckon her forward. She carefully scooted up to the window and peered out at the disfigured android. 

“Um, hello,” her voice was smaller than she’d have liked, “Jerry.” He nodded, smile relaxing into a big grin. She glanced to North, who only nodded in encouragement. “I’m Chloe.” 

“Nice to meet ya Chloe!” His words sounded genuine. “Welcome to New Jericho!” 

“Uh, t-thank you,” she stammered out, falling back into the seat. 

North gave her a lopsided grin and leaned back over the sill. “Thanks Jerry,” she called, and the gate began to slide open. Chloe was surprised it had any power, and only up close was she able to make out the razor wire lining the top of the reinforced wire fencing. 

“He seems... nice.” 

“He really is a sweetheart,” replied North without a hint of sarcasm. “Wait till you meet all his brothers.” 

Chloe imagined a small hoard of mutilated robots. “Are they all,” North looked over, and she tried to discretely motion to her face, “like him?” 

North’s smile fell and she studied Chloe before responding. “The Jerrys had a really hard time before New Jericho.” The warmth in her face was gone. “They’ve been through a lot, and some of them wear their scars on the outside.” 

“Like Jerry.” 

North nodded. “Like Jerry.” 

“But not all of them?” 

North offered one more thin-lipped smile before the taxi rolled to a stop. “We’re all a little broken in New Jericho.” 

The door opened and North stepped out. Chloe hesitated, looking up from the seat. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you.” 

North shrugged. “I don’t know how much you’ve seen up until this point,” she reached out a hand, “but this is the real world, and it’s not all pretty. You’ll get used to it.” 

Chloe carefully took it and allowed herself to be pulled forward. She gasped softly at the heavily reinforced iron doors, which were much more intimidating up close. An android stood on either side, one a huge TR400, and the other a lanky WR600. Both smiled as North stepped up. “Hey guys.” 

“Hey North!” They responded in unison, before leaning to get a better view behind her. 

“New friend?” asked the TR400. 

“Hi,” Chloe responded, a little bolder. “I’m Chloe.” 

“Hello, Chloe. I’m Tony,” responded the TR400. How was everyone here so good at smiling? 

“And I’m Ralph!” She got a better look at the WR600, and saw a nasty scar raking down the left side of his face. It wasn’t quite as bad as Jerry’s but it was still a bit unnerving. 

“It’s nice to meet you both, Tony,” she shook his hand, “Ralph,” and took his. 

Ralph seemed to melt in on himself at the contact, staring down at his feet. “Pretty girl,” he muttered, “Ralph likes pretty girl.” 

“Ralph,” said Tony, “polite. Remember?” 

Ralph nodded. “Polite, yes, Ralph is polite.” He met her eyes. “Welcome to New Jericho!” 

“Thank you, Ralph.” Chloe found her smile coming easier, each one a little more earnest than the last. 

North stepped forward. “Alright, you guys gonna let us in or what?” 

Tony gave a curt smile and nod before reaching back to pull open the door. Each door was on a track, rather than swinging forward or back. Chloe wondered how long it had taken to construct. North disappeared inside, Chloe close on her heels. 

She quickly turned back. “Thanks Tony, thanks Ralph!” 

“You’re welcome,” said Tony with a smile. 

“Bye pretty girl!” Ralph waved. Tony touched his shoulder and gave him a look. “I mean Chloe!” 

The door slid shut behind her, and for a moment she was plunged into darkness. Her eyes adjusted to the indoor lighting, and her breath caught in her throat. An explosion of colors met her eyes, overwhelming her processors for a moment. It was as if she’d stepped into a completely different building. Splashes of bright corals and oranges snaked up the walls, leading up to a mishmash of Edison and Fairy lights strung overhead from balcony to balcony. The glass ceiling panes that hadn’t been tarped over let rays of light shine down into the hustle and bustle below. Androids of every make, model, and ability were collectively bumping about the main hall. 

Some androids had tools and were in the process of replacing basic fixtures. A few had plaster and appeared to be building up the old flaking walls. Many just held paint and brushes as they decorated any and all dry surfaces. Most of the existing murals were crude, just abstract splashes of color, but some were intricately detailed. She marveled at a painted garden of white lilacs, sprouting up from a green meadow. Higher up she could see paintings of fish, trees, birds, flowers, cats, dogs, suns, stars, and innumerable other images of life and joy. 

She felt someone at her side. “It’s a lot at first, I know.” 

Chloe couldn’t look away. “It’s beautiful.” 

She barely noticed someone else making their way through the crowd. 

“North, you’re back!” A PL600 android stepped up to meet them. To Chloe’s surprise, North went in for a hug. 

“Simon!” She held him tightly for a beat before releasing him. 

“Any word on Connor?” 

Her expression darkened. “No, nothing we don’t already know.” 

“Damn.” His shoulders sank, but he quickly seemed to bounce back as he focused on Chloe. He held out a hand. “Ah, I’m Simon. Welcome to New Jericho.” 

“Chloe,” she took his hand. “Thank you.” Up close, she could see that his eyes were green, rather than the standard PL600 blue. She wondered if the replacement was aesthetic or functional. 

His expression flicked between them and his LED cycled a brief yellow. “I’m happy to show you around if you’d like?” 

Chloe turned to North, who only nodded. She swallowed and faced the tall android. “Great.” 

“I’ll meet back up with you guys later, okay?” North took a step back. 

“You’re not coming?” Chloe’s expression must have betrayed her sudden panic, because North stopped. She looked to Simon, and then back to Chloe. 

“I want to, but there’s something I have to take care of first.” She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it came up flat. “I won’t be gone long, I promise.” 

Chloe did not smile back. North shifted her weight uncomfortably, and eventually crumbled under her pleading gaze. “Okay, I can come with you guys for a little bit, but I really have to break off at the fountain.” 

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but Chloe still smiled at that. 

“Okay, guess we’ll hurry up then.” Simon ushered them along. 

North’s alert energy was comforting in the chaos of New Jericho. Simon was saying something about converting old department stores into living quarters. He gestured to a few rooms in the process of being divided into individual apartments. It was crude, with dust and tape and pieces of construction materials still scattered about, but it looked promising. 

A few stores down, one of the alcoves had been designated as a charging station, and androids lined up down the hall for a chance to replace some much-needed energy. Simon explained that they were trying to add more stations, but the generators were expensive and there were innumerable other repairs yet to be made. Chloe counted herself lucky to have left Kamski’s fully charged. She wouldn’t need to wait in those lines any time soon. 

The next store was surprisingly clean, compared to the rest of the departments. It had been converted into a makeshift repair shop, and even more androids lined up for servicing. Many were missing limbs, some were twitching a bit erratically. Simon explained that their supply of thirium was currently okay, but that Cyberlife was doing its best to make the stuff harder and harder to afford. Chloe hoped she wouldn’t find herself in that line in the foreseeable future. 

The space opened up, and the hall split in five directions, creating a lopsided star. At the center was an empty fountain, and a few child androids were rough housing inside. 

“Hey,” Simon called,” you guys be careful!” 

The kids just laughed and scampered away, disappearing into the maze of the repurposed mall. 

“See you soon!” North wasted no time as she started off down the rightmost hallway. Chloe raised a hand weakly, and watched as the one person she actually wanted to stand by disappeared into the crowd. Simon kept his distance, but cleared his throat to get her attention. 

“Would you like to see the rest?” She really didn’t, not until North got back, but it seemed silly to just stand and wait. 

“Sure.” 

They walked through the upper left hallway, which was largely more of the same sectioned off stores and apartments. It branched again at the end, one path leading to an old two-story bookstore, and the other stretched a little farther to a skating rink that had fallen into disrepair. A few androids milled about both the bookstore and the skating rink, but they didn’t seem to be too interested in socializing. They didn’t even look up as Simon and Chloe walked by. 

They eventually backtracked to the fountain, by which time Chloe had grown thoroughly bored. The painted entryway was obviously the focal point of the fledgling community, and the rest of the mall seemed to just be more of the same repair and apartment construction. The androids had made great strides fixing the place up in the last 2 months, but there was still a mountain of work left to do. Chloe silently chastised herself for being disappointed. She didn’t even hear Simon until he was practically in her face. 

“Chloe? Can you hear me? Chloe?” 

“Oh,” she startled, “sorry.” 

He nodded, he didn’t seem bothered by her drifting off. “The other branches are just more apartments for now, though there’s a movie theater at the end of,” he pointed, “that one.” 

“Does it work?” She asked, genuinely interested. 

“Not yet, but one of the guys is working on it. Thinks it would improve morale.” 

Chloe nodded. “Sounds nice.” 

Simon shifted, yellow circling his LED once again. “Do you want to register for a place?” 

“An apartment?” She asked, eyeing another dusty, empty space behind him. 

“Well, not yet,” he shrugged. “It’s more of a waiting list at the moment, but it would be good to get your name down.” 

Chloe wasn’t a huge fan, but it was better than the alternatives: returning to Kamski’s or trying her luck on her own. “North said there were other locations?” 

“Technically, yes.” He reached up to grab the back of his neck. “But we haven’t been working on them as long, this is probably the nicest place so far.” Chloe winced internally, but maintained a passive demeanor. 

“Then yes, I would like that.” 

“Great! I’ll take you over to the registration station.” Without pause he was off, Chloe struggling to keep up. As they walked, she compiled the information she’d collected on the sanctuary so far and sent it to the other Chloes. There was a short pause, and then she received a resounding cheer of approval. Apparently, her younger ST200 sisters were much easier to please. She dipped into Kamski’s funds again and directed a taxi back to their location. She couldn’t help but smirk, the drive wasn’t cheap. 

“Simon?” She asked as they neared the station, which was really more of a glorified information kiosk. 

“Yes?” He looked back but did not slow down. 

“Can I write in names? For the apartment?” 

Simon only stopped once they’d come to rest in front of the booth. “I don’t see why not. You have someone else?” 

“Yes,” she picked at a nail, “my sisters.” 

The android seated at the kiosk leaned forward. “How many?” 

“Three. Four, including me.” They nodded and typed something into a tablet. 

“Okay, can I get a call number?” 

She didn’t have a phone, so she quietly listed off the number to her internal receiver. She didn’t like the idea of being directly messaged by even more strangers, but it was a small price to pay for a place of her own. 

“And, that should be good.” They smiled up at her. “We’ll let you know when room becomes available.” They motioned to the unexplored upper right hallway. “In the meantime, there’s space to sleep in the food court. 

“I can get you set up with some blankets,” offered Simon. 

Chloe forced another smile. “Thank you.” 

If Simon was talking on the way to the food court, Chloe didn’t hear. She was too deep in thought. The mall was big enough to house a lot of androids, and luckily it did not seem to be quite at capacity yet. The fence looked flimsy, apart from the razor wire, and she wondered how structurally sound the foundation could be in a place like this. She hoped they wouldn’t have set up shop in a building at risk for caving in on them, but she made note not to accept any apartment options until she’d checked for herself. 

She hadn’t paid attention to where he’d gotten it from, but suddenly Simon was handing her a tall stack of heavy blankets. She looked around, and realized they’d reached the food court. It was about twice the size of the skating rink, and almost completely occupied. Blankets already laid claim to nearly every inch, leaving only a few bare patches of floor. In the center, many of the old tables had been pushed together to form some sort of massive blanket fort. Chloe could see movement from inside, and the soft chatter of voices echoed through the room. 

She turned back to Simon, a look of horror plastered across her face. He offered an apologetic smile and a shrug. “It’s the best we have right now, I hope you understand.” She quickly sent another update to her sisters. Her eye twitched as she was met with excited clamor over pillow forts and new friends. She released a heavy sigh and bowed her head. 

“I understand. Thank you for your generosity.” She might not like it, but she could tell it meant a lot, coming from androids who had so little. It was a warm place, and she’d do her best to make the most of it for her and her sisters. “I’m sorry if I did not seem grateful, I assure you this is not the case.” 

“It’s okay,” he said, but she suspected it really wasn’t. He seemed much too polite to say anything. 

“Thank you for the tour, it was very nice of you.” She smiled up at him, trying to convey how much she really meant it. 

“Absolutely.” He returned the smile and bowed his head. His eyes scanned past her. “I think there’s enough space left on the far end. Would you like some help setting up?” 

“No, that’s okay.” She hefted the blankets a little higher. “I’ve got it.” 

Another polite nod. “I’ll head off then. I’ll let North know where to find you.” 

Chloe perked up at this. “Yes! Thank you!” 

Simon smiled a more genuine smile, and turned to leave her to her work. As he walked away, she remembered something that had been gnawing at her mind for the last hour. “Oh, wait!” 

He paused and turned back. 

“I was curious, your eyes?” 

He remained largely passive, though she detected his face fall a fraction. “What about them?” 

“I...” She paused, realizing how out of line she must sound. “I just wanted to tell you, they look nice.” He raised an eyebrow, and his demeanor shifted back to one of polite curiosity. “It’s a very good color.” 

He studied her expression for a full minute. She tried not to waver under his gaze, hoping she hadn’t just messed up one of the few meaningful social interactions she’d had so far. Eventually, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he half turned. “Thank you,” and with that he was gone. She stood watching where he'd stood for a few minutes, before voices sounded in her head. 

_Hurry! Pick a good spot!_

_I want one under a table!_

_No, find a corner! We can use it to make a **bigger** fort!_

_Yes! What she said!_

Chloe shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. It would be a hard adjustment from a literal mansion in the hills, but she swore she would make it work. With a stiff chin, she set off across the uncertain sea of blankets, pillows, and bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter wasn't as action-packed as some of the others have been, but I hope it's a refreshing breather nonetheless. <:3


	19. Pillows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RK who?
> 
> (Yeah I probably should have posted these chapters earlier in the story but damnit impulse control of a terrier I couldn't break up the great escape my dudes)
> 
> Bear with me just a little longer guys we'll get back to the bois soon I promise :')  
> 

North’s favorite part of New Jericho was the light. The skylights were the one concession she’d made when planning the fortification of the old mall. She still had nightmares of monsters with guns raining down from helicopters above, but she couldn’t bring herself to board up the last of the natural light. The original Jericho had been their safe haven, but for so many it had also been a tomb. The only illumination below deck was the sickly yellow of the old bulbs, and it was a color she would never miss. Androids didn’t produce Vitamin D like humans, but North could see from her people’s enthusiasm how the sunlight was beneficial nonetheless. 

_Bullet proof glass, set in steel frames..._ That could work. Maybe the peace of mind would even help with the nightmares. North would have to talk to Simon about allocating the funds for the renovation. Both he and Markus had shot down her mounted roof turret suggestion, it was the least they could do for her now. 

She passed through the bustling halls, androids busily working along both sides. It was hard to believe that barely 2 months ago this had been just another forgotten place on the edge of a dying city. There was still so much work to be done, but seeing her people work with a purpose filled her heart with pride. This was what they were fighting for, and it was worth protecting at any cost. 

She reached the base of the old security office-turned oval office and quietly ascended the stairs. She wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but she’d rather get it done sooner than later. She slipped inside and heard voices carry down the hall. 

“And the press conference?” 

“They denied any involvement with the break-in, but they maintained that they were within their rights to hold onto their _property._ ” 

“Bastards.” 

North walked slowly, not purposefully silent, but not trying to bang around much either. 

“They haven’t confirmed or denied whether or not they have Connor, or any other RK series for that matter.” 

She could make out Markus’s angry huff before Josh continued. 

“The only official documents they’ve released imply all prototype units were deactivated and disassembled after the revolution.” 

North rounded the corner to witness Markus’s frustrated pacing. Josh straightened up, having spotted her immediately. Markus’s back was still turned as he growled, “he’s there, he’s still there.” He turned around, and his face opened up into one of relieved surprise. “North!” He rushed forward. “I didn’t hear from you, did you talk to Kamski?” 

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall “He wasn’t home.” 

“Damn it. We’ll have to try again.” He mirrored her stance, but tapped at his elbow nervously. “Did you find out when he’d be back?” 

North placed a hand to her forehead, pulling the beany down a fraction. “No.” 

She knew Markus was looking at her, but she didn’t want to have this fight, not right now. “North,” he asked, sincere concern in his voice. “What happened?” 

She managed to meet his eyes; his expression matched his tone. “Nothing happened.” 

“It looks like something happened.” His brow creased with worry and he reached up to rub her shoulders. “Are you okay?” 

She shrugged him off and walked further into the room, not making eye contact with Josh. “I talked to his android, she said he didn’t know anything.” 

Markus cocked his head. “North, that’s not much to go on.” 

She shook her head. “She checked all his messages and none of them mentioned Connor or the RK series.” 

“There might not be a digital trail-” 

“I don’t think we should go back there.” At this she stared directly at him, stance set and hands tensely gripping the fabric of her sleeves. 

Markus half turned, processing. “We don’t know anything for sure until we talk to him.” 

“We’re not going back.” North stated, planting her feet. 

“We?” 

“I’m not going back there, and you’re not going either.” She held her chin high. “There’s nothing Kamski can tell us we don’t already know.” 

Markus was growing visibly agitated, body tensed. “But you didn’t even talk to him.” 

“I didn’t have to!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but there it was. “He’s an arrogant asshole who doesn't give anything away for nothing, whatever he’d have asked for wasn’t worth it.” 

“That’s not your call to make!” The last word jumped in pitch as Markus tried to keep his own voice level. “We agreed, I would stay here, and you would talk to Kamski about Connor.” His eyes widened. “Is this even about Kamski?” 

“I’ll, uh, just be going-” 

“No Josh,” Markus ordered. “We’re not done, we still-” 

“I’ll go.” 

“North!” She made to pass Markus, but he didn’t move. “What is going on with you?” 

She released her arms and balled her fists at her sides. “I tried, okay? I followed a long shot lead, and it turned out to be a dead end. Can we just drop it?” 

“No, we can’t just drop it!” He spread his arms to the side. “Do you even want to find Connor?” 

“Of course I do.” Her jaw clenched, her thirium pump accelerating. 

“Really?!” He shrugged in feigned confusion. “Because I’m seriously doubting that right now.” 

North opened her mouth to spit back a reply, but Chloe’s words played in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Markus,” she returned his glare with as earnest an expression as she could, “I wouldn’t do that.” She reached back around to hold herself. “Connor and I haven’t exactly been on the best of terms,” she took a breath, “but I wouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of trying to bring him home. What’s happened to him, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” 

She took another step and placed a hand on Markus’s arm. “Look at me.” He slowly raised his gaze from where it had been burning a hole into the floor. She could see the anger draining from his features. “When I say Kamski can’t help us, it’s because I believe it.” He closed his eyes, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. She rubbed gentle circles into his arm. 

He stayed like that for a little while, before finally nodding and reaching up to grasp her hand. 

“Don’t go back there.” 

His lips pursed into a thin line, but he nodded again. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

She let her hand slip out of his grip. Getting a clearer look at him now, she could see how utterly exhausted he was. He didn’t need this on his plate along with everything else. She looked to Josh, who was still trapped on the far side of the room. 

“How goes legal?” 

He blinked, obviously not expecting to be addressed by the two any time soon. “Uh, slow.” 

The lines in her face deepened. 

“Slow, but not bad?” he offered with an uncomfortable half smile. “We’ve got our first date set, but it’s still over a month away.” 

“A month?!” She asked, turning to face him fully. 

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, Cyberlife was trying to push it to a year, one month is crazy fast for the court.” 

North swore under her breath. 

“We are lucky,” Markus said, voice drained of all energy. “Most of the lawyers are doing this pro bono. Carl's called in a bunch of favors. We’ve got some good people in our court.” 

North bowed her head. “Nothing about this is lucky. You’re not a person right now, Markus.” 

Markus straightened up, the exhaustion pushed away as he stuck out his chest. “I’m a person whether they say so or not. We all are.” 

North just shook her head. She turned back to Josh, “just... keep me in the loop, okay?” Josh nodded. She gave one last sad look to Markus before stepping around him and leaving down the hallway. 

That had actually gone better than she anticipated. It wasn’t great, but at least she didn’t have to worry about Markus charging back to Kamski’s half-cocked. She supposed it was the best outcome she could have asked for, considering. 

As she made her way down the stairs, a familiar face appeared at the bottom. 

“Just the man I wanted to see.” 

“You stole my line,” Simon replied with a smile. He stepped back to let her exit the stairway. They fell into step, making their way back through the halls of New Jericho. 

“How’d it go with Chloe?” 

Simon bobbled his head. “Okay I think. The food court was definitely a shock.” 

North shrugged. “Understandable. It’ll be better once some of the apartments are done.” 

“Yeah, she didn’t seem impressed.” 

North waved him off. “She didn’t see it before.” 

He smiled, but it slowly slipped away as his gaze became pensive. “I think she wanted to ask about my eyes.” 

North’s step faltered only for a moment. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing,” the corner of his lip pinching inward. “She changed her mind.” 

North glanced down at her feet. “You have beautiful eyes.” 

She heard a snort. “That’s what she said.” 

She couldn’t help but snort back. “That’s not how that joke’s supposed to go.” 

The tension was broken and he let out a humorous breath. “It was what she said though. That they were nice.” 

She elbowed him. “Maybe she likes you.” 

At this, Simon threw back his head and let out a full-blown belly laugh. 

North hid her own giggle behind her hand. “What’s so funny?” 

He rested a hand on his abdomen, wheezing breaths he was obviously only taking for show. “I don’t think it’s me she’s into.” 

North turned back down the hall, eyes closed and chin pointed high. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Simon leaned by her side, “Of course, Miss ‘You’re Not Coming?’” He clasped his hands and feigned puppy dog eyes. North pushed him away by his face. He just cackled as she sped along without him, forcing him to jog to catch up. 

She fixed him with an exaggerated venomous stare. “Not another word from you, or I’ll steal your legs in your sleep.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“You know I would.” 

Simon raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But she asked me to tell you, she’s waiting for you in the food court.” 

They reached the fountain, and North side eyed him. “Really?” 

“Yep.” He stuck his hands in his coat. “Guess I’ll just leave you to it then.” 

“Wait,” North reached out a hand, “I did need to ask you about something.” 

He paused mid backwards step. “Oh?” 

“How does this sound?” North held up her hands as if framing Broadway lights, “bulletproof skylights.” Simon glanced up at the sorry excuse for skylights above them. “Reinforced steel, ambush proof and visually functional. Eh? Eh?” 

Simon continued to study the cracked and missing glass panels. “It’s certainly better than the turret idea.” 

“My turret idea was great and you know it.” She pouted for emphasis. “But this is cheaper.” 

Simon nodded. “I like it, I’ll run it by Josh and Markus and work on a budget.” 

“Thank you, Simon.” She smiled, sweet as honey. 

He winked, “anything for you, babe.” Both of them broke down into a fit of giggling. As the laughter petered out, Simon asked, “anything else before I head out?” 

She let her smile soften. “I’m here if you want to talk about anything,” she waved a hand, “not budget-related.” 

The smile left his eyes, but he kept the dopey grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.” In a flash the toothy smile was back. “So, that about covers it?” 

She nodded but paused before replying, “I guess so. Thank you.” 

He saluted and turned to leave, but stopped to glance back over his shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

“GO!” She shouted, kicking at him. 

He scuttled away a few feet before turning to mime a cat paw in her direction. With that, he disappeared into the crowd. 

North’s smile lingered for a few moments, before giving way to a more somber expression. He’d changed the topic so quickly, throwing up that playful mask. She knew he was still hurting, and she hated that she couldn’t do anything about it. She could try to be there, to listen if that mask ever started to crumble, but she couldn’t force him to talk. She couldn’t change what had happened, what Connor had done to him. 

She wondered how all this missing Connor business was affecting her friend. Even after everything, Simon had tried to include Connor, tried to treat him like a friend. Whether it was just for Markus, or if he really believed Connor had changed, he tried. Was he worried like Markus? Ambivalent like North? Tired of being reminded about it every single day he was gone? 

Sometimes North wished she could forget, could look at Connor the way everyone else seemed to. The way Markus seemed to... 

But she couldn’t forget Simon’s broken body when Connor dragged him back from the evidence room. Connor might have brought Simon home, but he was also the reason Simon put a bullet in his head in the first place, destroying his original optical units. He’d tried to kill himself to keep them safe, to keep _him_ from hunting them. They'd all seen how well that turned out. 

Still deep in thought, North approached the food court, looking out over the massive fort of camped out androids. 

Chloe seemed to think well of Connor. She was glad Chloe hadn’t pushed the question, and that Simon hadn’t told her why he’d needed new eyes. It was easier for everyone to just try and move on, rather than dwell in the past. Maybe North could take a page out of Simon’s book, and learn to live with it. 

She picked her way across blankets and around sleeping bodies. It took a bit of exploring before she caught sight of a certain puffy red jacket towards the back of the room. Chloe had carved out a sizable space for herself in the corner, and was actively arranging and rearranging blankets. 

Her eyes flicked up as she approached. “Hey.” 

“Hey yourself,” North replied, shoving her hands in her pockets. 

Chloe motioned to the wrinkled corner she was working on. “Can you hold that down?” 

North kneeled on command, but couldn’t help sniffing at the patchwork of space. “Need a blanket?” 

Chloe kept smoothing out the patterns, a largely futile effort in North’s opinion. She didn’t look up. “The other Chloes...” North waited as she tugged at another corner. “I wanted to make sure it was safe.” She snapped the fabric, meeting North’s eyes. “Didn’t want to end up in some chop shop.” 

North tilted her head, but then her gaze dropped to her knees. They’d only met that morning, it made sense that she wouldn’t be quick to trust. It was incredible she’d come with her at all. 

Seemingly satisfied, Chloe leaned back onto her knees. “I called them. They’ll be here soon.” 

North perked up, “that’s good-” a sly smile tugged at Chloe’s lips. “Ah, I mean, I’m glad to hear that.” She examined the back wall. “Being alone... I’m happy for you.” 

Chloe squeezed the tips of her fingers, biting at the corner of her lip. “Would you like to stay? They’d love to meet you.” 

Her attention snapped back to the fidgeting android. “Are you sure?” 

She smiled and her eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners. “Positive.” her head bobbled and she looked out over the crowd. “They’re ST200’s, barely been out of the house. They’re so excited.” 

A warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature reached North’s chest. “I’d like that.” 

Chloe’s face dropped back to her hands. “North,” she looked up through her lashes, “thank you.” 

Suddenly her tongue wouldn’t work, and she just nodded dumbly. 

Chloe’s hands unclasped as she lightly slapped them down onto her knees. She moved so much, she was so animated. “So, uh, after they get here, I wanted to look around some more, but, um,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “how do I keep our spot?” 

North couldn’t help bit snicker. “No one will take it, not with the blankets down” 

“Are you sure?” 

North lifted her chin and laid a hand across her chest. “I’ll fight anyone who tries.” 

It was Chloe’s turn to suppress a giggle. “My hero.” She set her hands on the floor and scooted back against the wall. She tilted her head and rested her arms over her knees. “So, Simon showed me around a little bit, but, ah, I’d really like to see more of it with you.” Thank RA9 androids couldn’t blush. “Will you take me?” 

“I’d love to,” she practically squeaked. Before she could say any more, there was a scuffling behind them. Chloe’s eyes darted over North’s shoulder and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“Girls?” 

North turned to see three identical Chloes in matching dresses shakily picking their way towards them. Their faces and hair were the same, but each wore a different colored scarf, one green, one red, and one purple. 

“Chloe!” They squealed in unison, stumbling the rest of the way to the chagrin of a few once-sleeping androids. 

Chloe hastily stood, wrinkling the blankets she’d so meticulously placed. “I told you to call me when you got here.” 

The red one reached them first. “We know, but there was so much, we didn’t want to wait!” 

Green stepped up next. “We followed the pictures you sent.” 

Purple tripped forward to be caught between her two sisters. “Did you see the man with half a face? He called me cute!” 

They nodded together. “He was so nice!” 

“And the door-” 

“Tony!” 

“Ahhh,” sighed Purple dreamily. 

“What about Ralph?” piped up Red. 

“He was so funny!” 

“He hugged me,” squeaked Purple with a giggle. 

Green shook her head but kept smiling. “Tony didn’t like that.” 

“Did you see the paintings?” asked Red, reaching forward to take Chloe’s hands. 

“I did,” she replied with a smile. She didn’t seem overwhelmed by their breakneck chatter in the least. 

“Do you think we could do some?” 

Chloe turned to North, and suddenly all eyes were on her. She gulped and fumbled like a deer in the headlights. “Uh, there’s, there should be room.” She nodded stiffly to Chloe. “As long as the wall’s stable, I don’t see why not.” She couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden squeals of delight. Green leaned forward to take her hand as well. 

“You must be North?” 

Red’s eyes widened. “The one who likes ducks?” 

Purple grabbed her other hand. “Wow, you are pretty!” 

With no hands left to grab, Red draped herself across Purple. “Nice to meet you!” 

“Ah,” she looked to Chloe, who only nodded in encouragement. “Thank you.” 

Green’s eyes slipped to the left, and suddenly her pupils dilated. “Pillows.” 

“Dibs!” shrilled Purple, dropping North’s hand to pilfer a few unattended pillows against the wall. 

“You can’t call dibs, there’s pillows everywhere!” 

“I’ll get a table!” 

“Well, I’m getting one too!” 

“Me too!” 

“Quick, grab a blanket.” 

In a flash, all three were hard at work grabbing pillows, pushing tables, and throwing together a makeshift fort against the corner. North gawked for a while at their concerted efforts, head still spinning at the whirlwind introduction. “They didn’t waste any time.” 

Chloe just watched them, a soft smile on her lips. “I’ve never seen them like this.” She looked at her feet. “It’s like they’re coming alive.” 

“They’re so happy,” marveled North, before turning to Chloe. The smile had faded and she looked troubled. 

North hesitated before lightly placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Simon’s observation played back in her mind. “It’s a lot to get used to, it'll just take some time.” She turned back to the excited Chloes, who were now arguing over one particularly bright blue blanket. “Sometimes it’s just easier for some than others.” She gave a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be okay.” 

Chloe didn’t look up, but she didn’t shrug her off either. “I want to be happy with them.” North felt her thirium pump squeeze. Chloe looked up, expression open and pleading. “Please stay.” She nodded to the Chloes. “I don’t think they’ll be ready to go anytime soon.” 

North offered an earnest smile in return. “It’s fine, they’re fun to watch.” Chloe took her hand, and they sank back to the floor. She didn’t let go. 

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and turned to face North. “Your meeting, was it about Connor?” 

North’s eyes drifted across the room. “Yeah.” 

She bowed her head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.” 

North squeezed her hand gently, resting it on her knee. “It’s okay, it’s not on you.” 

Chloe nodded but didn’t look up. “I hope he’s okay.” 

North looked back to the other Chloes. She supposed that if events had played out any different, they wouldn't be here now, happily building their own makeshift pillow castle. For the first time, she took a breath, and spoke with complete honesty. “I do too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') 
> 
> ya ship it yet?


	20. Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long :') writing around my family turned out to be physically impossible (most high-stress human beings on the planet i s2g, this is why i live alone) so sorry if it seems a bit choppy (tried to go over it again before posting but by then i just wanted this chapter to be overrrrrr)
> 
> BUT NOW I AM FREE AGAIN, UPDATES SHOULD RESUME THEIR "NORMAL" SCHEDULE, AND THAT SHOULD BE IT FOR THE FAFFING ABOUT FOR A WHILE

North left, but the pit in Markus’s gut remained. Well after the door closed, once her steps had completely faded, Markus allowed himself to slide down against the wall. His head rested back and his legs stretched out in front of him. 

Josh stepped forward cautiously, finally daring to move again. He tried to be subtle as he scanned Markus, and then rested a hand against one of the old security swivel chairs. “You can sit if you want.” 

Markus closed his eyes and took a long breath through his nose. “Just tell me from down here.” 

He didn’t open his eyes even as quick scuffling and the drag of shoes on carpet met his audio receptors. Once it was quiet again, his head lolled to the side and he cracked his eyes at Josh, who was now seated stiffly beside him. “I meant me. You can use the chair if you want.” 

He seemed to consider for a moment, but ended up just smoothing out the new wrinkles in his pants. “I’m already down here.” 

Markus leaned his head back against the wall. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“Well you _were_ listening to me just a little while ago.” 

He raised a hand to encourage Josh on. 

“Have you talked to Carl?” 

Markus eyed him with brief puzzlement. “He doesn’t know anything about Connor.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” He dropped his gaze to his knees. “They’re going to want him to testify.” 

Tension returned to Markus’s body, and a crease formed in his brow. “He’s sick, he’s not going anywhere near a court room.” 

“We’re talking about setting up a video feed.” 

“Josh-” 

“I know, he’s your dad, not your owner, but anything he says is going to hold a lot more weight than either you or me alone,” he ran his fingers along the grain of the fabric of his pants, “at least to them.” 

“What about Lieutenant Anderson?” Markus felt silly as soon as he said it. 

Josh’s head tilted. “It would be harder without Connor there. He is human, but do you think he’d be reliable to testify?” 

“Never mind, just- pretend I didn’t say anything.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t want anything to do with us right now.” 

“His son _was_ just kidnapped.” 

Markus found himself grinding his teeth. 

“Which is not on you, by the way.” Josh had heard about their exchange at the station. 

“I know,” he said automatically, and reached up to run a hand through his short hair. “But it feels that way.” He let the hand fall back into his lap. “Now with Kamski...” 

“I think North’s right,” Josh piped up. “I didn’t like that idea either.” 

“He was our only lead.” 

“He wasn’t even a lead,” Josh adjusted his posture, “just an idea.” 

“That’s even worse,” he groaned, sinking down a little further. 

Josh drummed his fingers against the floor, trying to relax but still visibly uncomfortable. “Our best shot to get Connor back is still through the courts.” 

“It’s bullshit,” he breathed, but Josh continued as if he hadn’t heard. 

“The lawyers are going to start prepping with Carl next week. He’ll be like a character witness, help make you relatable, humanize you.” 

“I can’t believe we still have to prove this.” 

“We knew it wouldn’t be easy-” 

“But we had it, Josh,” he clenched his fists. “We had it.” 

Josh pursed his lips. “The executive order is still in place.” 

“It is!” He threw his hands up. “That’s why none of this should even be happening!” 

“But we knew it wasn’t done,” Josh kept his voice level, “that we’d have to back it up with legislation.” 

He tried to rein in his volume. “I thought we’d have more time.” 

“I know, I did too,” Josh nodded in affirmation. “Most of our people are still protected for now. We’re not going to let them land another underhanded hit.” 

Markus didn’t move. 

“It’s slow, but we are fighting this.” 

“North’s right about another thing.” Markus drew up his knees. “It’s too slow.” 

“It’s fast for-” 

“I don’t care,” he snapped. He pushed himself up. “I need to be out there, not hiding while my friends fight _my_ battles.” 

“You’re not a prisoner here,” Josh scrambled up after him, “and you’re doing everything you can.” 

“Then why doesn’t it feel like that?” 

Josh straightened up fully and fixed Markus with a hard stare. “You should call Carl.” 

“I’d rather see him.” Markus knew he was just being difficult at this point. Josh could see it too, and gave him a pointed look. “I know, you don’t need to say it.” 

“I’ll give you a while, I’m gonna go make a call.” At long last, Josh made his leave, perhaps a little too eagerly. Markus didn’t turn as the door swung closed. A beat later, his shoulders slumped and he practically threw himself into the swivel chair. _It really is more comfortable than the floor._

Josh was right; talking with Carl usually helped Markus ground himself. His father was a smart, compassionate man, and his words were an anchor through the swirling emotions that threatened to sweep him away. 

His LED cycled yellow as he pulled up Carl’s number. The line rang only once before the cordial voice of Carl’s new android caregiver answered. “Hello Markus.” 

“Can I talk to Carl?” He felt a pang of guilt for skipping the usual pleasantries, but his emotional exhaustion got the better of him. 

Apparently the other android noticed as well, as there was a sniff from the other end. “I’m afraid Mr. Manfred is not feeling well at the moment. You should call back later.” 

“Is he okay?” A thousand fatal scenarios played out in his head. 

There was hesitation in the caregiver’s response. “Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” Markus didn’t want to accuse the android of lying, but he had an awful suspicion that “okay” wasn’t the best word to describe Carl’s condition. 

“He’s sleeping right now,” the voice was soft but stern. “It was a long night and I would rather not wake him.” 

Markus slumped a little deeper in the chair. “I understand.” 

“Good.” 

“Just,” he could hear the desperation in his own voice and it dragged him down even further, “can you tell him I called?” 

“As soon as he wakes up, I will let him know.” The cordial tone was back and it grated on Markus to no end. 

He tried to smooth over the interaction with a final sincere “thank you,” but it came out flat and empty. The line clicked and Markus was alone again with his thoughts. 

“It _was_ a nice thought,” he mumbled to himself. “Thanks Josh.” With no one to watch him fidget, he spun the chair around as he ran through things he could be doing. There weren’t many places for him to go outside of New Jericho. Public spaces weren’t safe and no politicians were currently available for meetings. As for inside, he’d already given an informal speech that morning to calm tensions in the food court camp. He was tired of hearing himself talk, and he doubted anyone else would appreciate much more of his politician voice. He could always grab a bucket of plaster to help with the restoration, there were never too many hands on deck in that regard. He could even just paint, lose himself in the colors while helping transform the corpse of a building into a home. 

Creating something might help. He slipped out of the chair and padded out the door. As he reached the stairs, Simon’s voice in his head nearly startled him into tripping down the first few steps. 

“Markus, you there?” 

“Barely.” He tightened his grip on the handrail. 

“I’ve got something to run by you, it’s not urgent, but if you’re free?” 

“I’m free,” he responded a little too quickly. 

“Good, are you still in the office?” 

He reached the bottom of the stairs and let the noise of the mall wash over him. “No, just stepped out. I can come to you?” 

“That works. I’ll meet you up front.” Simon’s mental presence faded from his mind. 

Markus walked slowly through the halls, taking the time to smile and greet androids along the way. When he wasn’t giving speeches or overseeing plans, he enjoyed these sorts of casual exchanges. It wouldn't pull him out of his anxious spiral, but interacting with his people could at least slow it down a little. 

It didn’t last long enough, and too soon he found himself approaching the front doors. Simon was already waiting for him. 

“Office life treating you well?” 

“Peachy.” 

Simon scanned him up and down. “You look like shit.” 

“Oh, thanks.” He rolled his eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” Simon replied with a smug grin. “As the royal advisor to the king, it is my sworn duty to-” 

He cut him off with a light shove. “Shut up.” He could feel the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Simon let out a short laugh as he shrugged him off. He was smiling, but his eyes were focused and serious. “I mean it though, you look exhausted.” 

“I am.” No use in denying it. 

Simon gestured at nothing in particular. “Everything?” 

Markus let out a deep sigh. “I’m tired of getting blocked at every turn.” Even in the middle of the hustle and bustle of construction, he was an open book with Simon. “Lawyers, Connor, Carl, I feel like I’m spinning my wheels.” 

“Yeah, it’s shit.” 

“You can say that again.” 

“It’s shit.” Simon gave another more devious smile as Markus halfheartedly narrowed his eyes. “Want me to say it a third time?” 

“I think that about covers it.” He tried to keep a straight face, but ended up snorting trying to suppress a laugh. 

“Hey, here’s something,” Simon clapped a hand on Markus’s shoulder. “Should help get your mind off things.” 

“Should my mind be off things?” 

Simon blinked at him. “Absolutely.” His smile gave way to a more serious expression. “You’ve successfully delegated jobs, and there are lots of people working on what needs to be worked on.” He pointed to the androids working diligently around them. 

“I was actually thinking about helping.” 

Simon shrugged. “Not a bad idea, but later. This first.” He began to guide Markus back through the halls. 

“What is it?” 

“You remember North’s turret idea?” 

Markus winced. “Unfortunately.” 

“Okay, well this is better.” 

Markus side-eyed him. “Better or _better?_ ” 

“Actually better.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Bulletproof skylights. North’s idea, lets light in, keeps bullets out.” 

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth pulled down into a comical expression of disbelief. “Wow, that actually is better.” 

“I know, I was as surprised as you.” 

“It’s smart.” He looked up at the remaining glass. “Better than just boarding them up.” 

“Exactly.” 

The raw materials wouldn’t be cheap by any means, but it sounded like a good investment in both security and morale. “Okay, I think we can make that happen.” 

“Awesome.” The smile was back, and this time it reached his eyes. “And the other thing...” 

His attention was pulled from the building plans already cycling through his head. “What other thing?” 

“We have a new resident.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, probable resident. Whether or not they decide to stay remains to be seen.” 

Since the revolution and the liberation of the recycling camps, deviants had continued to trickle in to New Jericho. With so many lost in the initial uprising, it felt good to see new faces. 

“You wanna welcome them?” 

He did, but he leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms. “Let me check my schedule.” He squinted and tapped a finger to his lips. 

“Hm,” Simon hummed, leaning forward. “Final verdict?” 

Markus bobbled his head, drawing out the first few words, “I guess I can pencil it in.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “As long as I reschedule brooding and push back my plans to obsessively watch the 6 o’clock news.” 

“Perfect, come on.” 

“But that does still leave watching the plaster dry.” 

Simon snorted. “I’ll make it up to you later,” He took him by the arm, “I swear we’ll watch all the plaster dry in the whole mall.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

He winked. “You know it.” 

“What would I do without you?” 

Simon sped up, barely looking over his shoulder. “Die, probably.” 

“Ha ha,” Markus responded flatly. The banter hit a lull and he began to wonder about their newest arrivals. “So, just one?” 

“Yep.” Simon’s LED cycled yellow. “Scratch that, there’s four. Tony says three more came in a little bit ago.” 

“More?” Markus walked a little faster to match Simon’s stride 

“Same group it sounds like.” They passed the fountain. 

“You know anything about them?” 

“Maybe.” He kept his eyes ahead, even as Markus tried to scrutinize him. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to tell me?” 

“Your people skills are getting rusty. I’ll leave introductions up to you.” 

He huffed, but it held no malice. “Jeeze, how considerate.” 

Simon waved a hand and mimed a small bow without slowing down. “I aim to please.” 

“When did you become such a smarmy bastard?” 

“Guess death changes a guy.” 

Any hint of humor dried up as Markus's mouth clicked shut. Simon spared a glance his way. 

“Sorry, too much?” 

“No, I just-” Markus shook his head, trying to reorient his thoughts. “Just caught me off guard.” 

“Yeah.” Simon carefully weaved around another android as they continued down the hall. 

“I don’t know what to say.” It wasn’t eloquent, but it was the truth. 

“No one seems to.” Simon’s expression was distant, but his voice was more matter-of-fact than solemn. “I don’t really know what to say either.” 

“At least that makes two of us?” 

Simon was more open with Markus than he was with North or Josh, but up to this point he’d only stuck to the facts when recounting his experience as a piece of DPD evidence. Whatever was about to come out, Markus didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

Simon took a breath. “I can’t forget what it was like, the dark, the voices,” his voice trailed off briefly, and he looked down at his hands. “I thought it might be easier if I didn’t remember, but,” his eyes fell, “I don’t know.” He slowed down to address Markus more directly. “I just know I’m glad to be alive. I guess I want to enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“That makes sense.” He quickly amended his statement, “the last part, I mean.” 

“Glad you think so, I’m lost as shit.” His tone picked up at the last few words. 

Markus lowered his voice. “Hey, I know there’s a lot going on right now, but I've always got time for you.” 

Simon offered up another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. I know.” His head tilted up to look at something beyond Markus. “Another time though, you’ve got some deviants to meet.” 

Sure enough, they’d reached the food court. Simon led him across the maze of blankets and sleeping bodies. They approached a small cluster of tables that had been pushed into one of the far corners. Two figures sat adjacent to the colorful structure. 

“North?” 

Her head shot up, eyes widening. “What are you doing here?” 

Simon stepped between them. “I wanted to introduce Markus to our newest resident.” He smiled down at the android sitting beside North. She was a Chloe, model RT600... a very familiar looking RT600. “Well, assuming you decide to stay.” 

The Chloe’s eyes flicked to the fort, and she gave a curt nod. “I think so.” 

“Excellent, then yes,” he clasped his hands, “Markus, this is our newest resident.” 

Neither lady made a motion to stand, so Markus took a knee and held out a hand. “I want to welcome you to New Jericho, I’m Markus.” 

She eyed him before slowly reaching out to return the gesture. “Chloe.” 

“I’m happy to meet you Chloe.” He managed to flash the most genuine smile he’d made all day. Chloe gave a quick tight-lipped smile back. 

Before he could say anything else, muffled scraping came from the direction of the fort. A face peeked out from beneath one of the draped blankets. 

“Markus?” An identical Chloe scrambled out from under the table. There was more scuffling as two more Chloes crawled out after her. 

“Markus!” 

He barely had time to stand before the three androids were upon him. 

“We saw you on TV!” 

“You were amazing.” 

“Were you scared?” 

“Why are your eyes different colors?” 

“You’re so pretty!” 

“Do you know everyone here?” 

“Do you like apple juice?” 

“Are you gonna stay with us?” 

“Do you have apple juice?” 

“We made a fort!” 

“Did you build this whole place by yourself?” 

“Girls!” The first Chloe stood and stepped between them. “One at a time.” 

They quieted down, but all three sets of eyes were still on Markus. He smiled a little wider. “You guys sure are enthusiastic.” He quickly ran back through his memory. “Okay, yes I’ve been on TV. Uh, thank you about that.” He reached up to grab the back of his neck. “Yes, it was pretty scary.” He let his hand slide down to his face. “One of my eyes is a replacement.” Almost there. “Um, thank you again. I don’t know everyone yet but I’m trying. I do like apple juice, but we don’t have any here. Yes, I live here too, but no, I didn’t build it.” He looked beyond the Chloes for a moment. “And that is a nice fort.” 

Markus hadn’t understood the idiom “stars in their eyes” until he was faced with three dewy-eyed deviants. 

“Wow,” Chloe’s own eyes were wide. 

“Show off,” huffed North, crossing her arms. Markus hadn’t really registered her body language up to this point, but standing he could see how tense and agitated she looked. 

“North,” he shifted his attention, he’d have time to get to know the new arrivals later. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Why?” She demanded. 

He held up his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “Just to talk.” 

North studied Markus’s face as Chloe eyed them both curiously. Simon stepped in. “Chloe, I don’t think I’ve met your friends.” 

“My sisters.” She corrected firmly. The three androids to her right nodded emphatically. 

North turned to Chloe. “I’ll be right back.” Without another word she brushed past Markus. He gave one last look to Simon and Chloe before he followed her to a less populated area of the cafeteria. Seemingly satisfied with the location, North spun on her heel to face him. “What?” 

“Is...” he was suddenly at a loss for words. “Is this why...?” 

“Yes.” He could see her jaw working. 

He made sure to keep his voice lowered. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Her lips pursed and the line in her forehead deepened. “Because you didn’t see their faces.” She maintained a whisper, but the pitch grew sharp. “How was I supposed to explain that?” 

“You could have showed me?” 

Her eyes fell and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes took on a thousand-yard stare that told him she wasn’t completely in the present anymore. The corners of her mouth twitched down into a grimace. 

“North?” 

As quickly as it came, the expression passed. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head a little to refocus, “Seeing her, it just...” she trailed off. Markus waited for her to continue. She closed her eyes. “It brought me back to some bad places, and I couldn’t leave her there.” Her eyes opened and she affixed Markus with a fiery glare. “Elijah Kamski is not our ally.” She slowly and deliberately lowered her arms to her sides. “I do want to help Connor, I really do, but I will not trust a man like that to do it.” 

“Okay.” If she was expecting a fight, she wouldn’t find one with Markus. “I hear you.” 

His lack of hostility seemed to ease her defenses, but she never fully relaxed. Markus wondered how much he’d been unloading on North the last few days for her to seem so wary of him. 

“So...” he changed his tone and slouched an inch closer to her eye level, “Chloe?” 

A bit more of the tension drained away. “Yeah.” 

“She seems nice.” He could see the ghost of a smile wanting to take up residence across North’s face. “I like her sisters.” 

Smile successfully elicited. “They’re a whirlwind.” There was a fondness in her eyes. 

“I swear, when they saw me, it was like I was being attacked by a bunch of golden retrievers.” 

That earned soft laugh. “They’re relentless.” 

“I see that smile.” 

She met his eyes. “I didn’t say they were bad.” The smile slipped away as she looked past him at the Chloes, who were now mobbing Simon. The anger peeled away, and Markus caught a glimpse of something underneath. “Did you ever see us here?” 

He looked out over the room, at the androids who’d found a home and a family on the floor of a dusty mall. “Yes.” 

North scoffed. “Of course you did.” 

“The cafeteria was a surprise.” 

She nodded, but the smile turned bitter. “Maybe that was the difference between us. I couldn’t. This is more than I ever imagined.” She faced him, no smile, no tears. “I would do anything to protect it.” A shiver ran up the synthetic nerves of his spine. 

Barely above a whisper, “I know.” 

She didn’t break their eye contact. “You are a part of it. Just because we’ve got a roof over our heads, doesn’t mean it’s over.” She raised a hand. “Our people need guidance, not a martyr.” 

“You’d make a good leader.” 

And with that the moment was over. She recoiled and glared at him down her nose. “Oh no, I see what you’re doing.” 

He held his hands up in surrender. 

“You do not get to check out like that.” She shook her head, “I don’t want to replace you. Please, do not make me do that.” It was both an order and a plea. 

“I’m sorry.” It was soft and barely audible, but North heard, and for a moment the armor was gone. 

“I’ve already lost so much.” 

Markus wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay. He reached out, but in a flash the walls were up and she was stepping back. 

His hand hung in the air. “You won’t lose me.” 

“You don’t know that.” Her voice was level, no longer betraying her distress. 

“I do. We’ve come too far.” He let his hand sink lower, but he left it suspended, now palm up. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” He offered a small smile at the last part. 

Her eyes scanned between his hand and his face. At first, he didn’t think she would move, but slowly she reached out with her own hand, brushing her fingertips lightly over his palm. She didn’t connect, and she drew back quickly. Her boot scuffed across the floor. “You better not. You and Simon and Josh are the only family I have left.” 

That pang in his gut returned, but before he could say anything, North continued. 

“Hey Markus?” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m worried about Simon.” When Markus did not immediately respond, she kept going. “I think you should talk to him. I tried, but he changes the subject.” 

“I am,” he jumped in, “talking with him, I mean.” He reflected on their earlier exchange. “It’s a lot to process, and we can all be there for him and listen when he’s ready.” He offered a reassuring smile. “I think he’s coming around though.” 

He could tell she wanted to ask more, but she pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay.” 

A particularly loud laugh had Markus turning to look back towards Simon and the Chloes. Each had a pillow, and from where he was standing it looked like a 3 on 1 death match. Simon was losing. 

“I think that’s my cue. I guess I’ll let you get back to your,” he watched the three girls beat Simon into the ground with pillows, “new puppies.” 

North threw a friendly punch at his shoulder, but it landed with a bit too much fist and not quite enough friendliness. It was uncomfortable and Markus played it up, grabbing at his arm and gasping. North just flashed a cocky smile. “Yeah, they’re pretty cute.” 

“I think that one likes you.” Sure enough, the original Chloe was pretending not to watch North and failing miserably. 

North’s eyes actually softened, and a real smile lit up her face. Softly, she murmured, “I hope so.” 

Markus started to say goodbye, but stopped himself. “North?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are we,” he gestured between the two of them, “okay?” 

“That depends,” she crossed her arms. “Are you still mad at me?” 

Markus let out an exasperated sigh, “no I’m not mad at you, why would you-?” He cut himself off. “No, no I’m not mad at you. Are you mad at me?” 

She side-eyed him. “A little.” She held the pose for a few seconds before cracking a grin. “But we’re okay.” 

“I’ll see you later then.” He started back to rescue his pillow pummeled partner. 

“You better.” 

 

~~~ 

 

The next few days blurred together in a rush of legal negotiations, budget approvals, and enough video conferences to make Markus’s eyes cross. He tried to wander New Jericho and lend a hand where he could, but it always seemed like as soon as he stepped away, some new task would pop up, demanding his immediate attention. He was examining some of the building’s older and more heavily corroded water pipes when he got the call. 

_Markus, you need to come to the office._ Josh’s voice was clipped in his head. 

As the other androids began to knock out another wall to reach the damage, Markus quietly excused himself. 

_What is it now?_

_Just get here._ Josh didn’t say anything else, but Markus didn’t think much of it. They were all being pushed to their limits this week. 

He stepped into the office to find Josh watching at a news program play out across one of the larger repurposed security monitors. A quick scan told him that the program was from earlier that morning, and it featured a high-profile interview with none other than Elijah Kamski himself. 

“What’s going on?” 

Josh didn’t turn as he entered, just swiped a hand to rewind the program. The hostess’s voice cut in abruptly. 

_“Fascinating. Have you seen it yourself?”_

_Kamski crossed his legs, hands laced carelessly in his lap. “Not in person, not yet anyway. I haven’t been invited,” he looked at the camera, “but maybe that’ll change soon.”_

Josh’s arms were crossed and his posture was rigid. “He’s been talking about New Jericho all morning.” 

“What?!” Markus looked back to the recorded broadcast with mounting horror. 

_”It’s really amazing what they’ve done with the place though. You can see on the Street View,” an image of the front of the mall crossed the screen, “they’ve already started renovating.”_

_“All that work in just 2 months?”_

_“I know. They’re fast workers, Rosanna. And highly skilled. They really can do anything they set their coded minds to.” He smiled with too many teeth._

At once the door to the office flew open. **“Markus!”** North stormed in, practically running to him. “They’re here!” 

“Who’s here?!” 

Josh spoke next, “Protestors. Jerry just called in.” 

“We need to do something, they can’t-” North trailed off as she registered the two figures onscreen. 

_”And an old mall no less!”_

_“I know, there’s so many abandoned places at the edges of the city, but a mall really makes sense, don’t you think?”_

_“I do, Elijah.”_

_“Nostalgic, too. I remember going to the Mall of Detroit as a child with my family. Did you ever go there, Rosanna?”_

_“I sure did, I remember how sad it was when they finally closed the place down.”_

“That snake,” North hissed, eyes flashing with rage. 

“It’s not like we were trying to hide, but this is an open invitation to every android hate group in the city.” Josh shook his head. “Why would he do this?” 

It felt like he was sinking through dark water. “How?” 

_”And you said your own androids recently moved there?”_

_Somehow Kamski’s smile stretched even tighter. “I did.”_

_“How did that go?”_

_The smile gave way to something more relaxed, and he recrossed his legs. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but they wanted to go.” He looked back to the camera. “I’m awful at saying no.”_

_“Do you miss them?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

“That fucking bastard,” growled North. “He’s lying, look at him!” 

_Kamski shrugged and continued. “But, as I’ve said before, you can’t stop progress.” His eyes focused back in on the camera, and there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes a new life is just a taxi ride away.”_

“The interview didn’t go much longer, but,” Josh turned back and trailed off. 

North had backed up to the wall, fists clenched tightly enough to tremble. Her eyes were locked onto Kamski, but the snarl had fallen away. If Markus didn’t know better, he’d think she looked scared. 

Josh made a show of clearing his throat, but North didn’t budge. “So, the protestors haven’t become violent, but we should contact the police anyway. It’s smart to keep them close right now.” 

“North?” Markus stepped in front of her, blocking the view of the screen. Her pupils were blown and her eyes stared fixedly ahead. The LED at her temple cycled red-yellow. Markus chanced a touch and squeezed her shoulder lightly. “What’s going on?” 

The LED cycled back to pure yellow. “It was me.” 

Markus leaned in. “What are you talking about?” 

Slowly she met his eyes. “The taxi.” She opened her mouth, but seemed to search his expression before speaking. “He must have tracked the taxi.” 

Josh shuffled up. “What taxi?” 

She glanced around Markus. “I took a taxi to his home.” She shook her head. “I brought Chloe back with me. He must have found out.” 

Josh huffed from behind him. “Guess that explains that then.” 

“It’s my fault.” Her LED cycled red, and her gaze fixed straight ahead. Markus registered her stress levels approaching the mid 80’s. He gripped both her shoulders 

“Hey, look at me.” 

“He tracked me. I brought them here” 

“No, you didn’t, North-” 

“The humans, they’ll break in, they’ll kill everyone. It’s my fault. I did this, I-” 

“Look at me!” 

Markus pressed his hands to either side of her face and connected. A rush of fear and anxiety nearly locked his systems, but he pushed through it, projecting images of security fences and reinforced steel doors. He dredged up every safe and calm feeling he could muster, and focused on transferring every bit of it to North. 

Slowly her pupils began to contract to their normal size. Her breathing function, which Markus hadn’t realized was suspended, started again, and her breaths were quick and hot as they worked to cool her internal systems. 

Her face tilted slowly. “I’m sorry.” 

The sinking feeling gripped his heart and pulled down hard. He reached down to hold her shoulders again. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.” 

“If I hadn’t done that-” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” North stopped, and Markus continued. “If you didn’t do what you did, those Chloes would still be slaves. You did the right thing.” 

“But-” her voice was small. 

“None of this is on you.” He gritted his teeth. “That petty bastard just showed his true colors. This is his fault, not yours.” 

North’s breathing began to level out. “He retaliated because I took them.” 

“We are not property.” He loosened his grip. 

“I know.” She seemed to be coming out of it and returning to herself. She glared past Markus at the screen. “I knew we couldn’t trust him.” 

“You were right.” 

“He’s not getting another inch from us.” 

“No he’s not.” 

Josh, ever the patient observer, cleared his throat again. “Just thought you should know, I called the DPD and they’re sending out a patrol car to make sure the protestors don’t get violent.” 

Markus stepped back a fraction, back into the reality of the situation. “Thank you, sorry Josh. That’s good.” 

He simply shrugged in reply. 

North turned to leave. “I’m going to watch the gate.” 

“Wait-” 

“If they break in, we need to be ready to mobilize and defend ourselves.” 

“They’re just demonstrating right now,” Josh replied, but North was already out the door. He looked to Markus. “Tony says they’ve just got signs and megaphones.” 

Markus let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be back, gonna make sure it doesn’t escalate.” He looked to the screen, and Kamski’s smiling face. “Keep me updated, okay?” 

Josh nodded, and Markus headed out. 

 

~~~ 

 

The day had been one giant cluster. Ralph, Tony, and all the Jerrys were called inside to keep them out of the protestors’ direct line of sight. Simon ran himself ragged putting out figurative fires and doing his best to calm panicked androids. Markus spent the better part of his day just keeping his people from pouring out into the parking lot to watch. Against his orders, North had marched up to the fence and started throwing back her own insults, agitating the humans for the better part of the afternoon. Markus had to all but drag her away when they started throwing rocks. The arrival of a squad car helped to disburse most of the crowd, and the officers ordered the most belligerent of the protestors off the premises. The last of them left only after the sun had fully set. 

Markus, dreading the cycle beginning again the next day, retreated to the back office. Josh had left to check in with one of the satellite communities, and Markus was alone. He creakily sank into one of the swivel chairs and engaged stasis mode. He just wanted the day to be over. 

A few hours before dawn, his sleep was interrupted by a direct call. Markus didn’t open his eyes until he checked the ID. He sat up straight and quickly answered. 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” 

“Markus.” The voice on the other end was low and hushed. 

He stood, pushing the chair back. “What’s wrong?” He hadn’t spoken with the detective since the incident at the police station. He doubted the man would be looking for a friendly chat after the way they’d left things. 

“I need a favor.” Even trying to keep his volume down, Hank’s voice sounded gruff. “Nowhere’s open right now, and I really need a few bags of that blue blood. I can pay you back-” 

“What happened?” Markus cut him off, grabbing a hoodie from the corner and slipping out of the room. Even if they didn’t enter stasis, most androids at least quieted down and stopped working during the night. He shouldn’t have much trouble getting stopped in the halls. 

There was a hollow laugh on the other end. “You’re not gonna believe this.” Markus descended the stairs and scanned the darkness. He was still recognizable without his large jacket, but pulling the hood up helped obscure his features. 

“Try me.” 

“Two RK900’s just showed up on my front porch.” Markus stopped dead in his tracks, a pick of ice driving through his gut. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, they’re all shot up, said they just escaped Cyberlife Tower.” 

Markus felt his thirium pump accelerate. “Connor?” 

The ice wedged deeper at the silence that followed. “No, nothing about Connor.” He felt his knees grow weak and he stepped back to support himself against a wall. He could hear the man’s heavy breathing on the end of the line. He hated that he’d dared to hope. 

“Listen, I called because one’s doing real bad. I didn’t want to say this in front of his buddy, but he looks like he’s on death’s door.” 

“Where are they now?” 

Muffled steps came from the other end. “They’re sleeping, one’s on my couch, the other’s on the floor. I’m pretty sure they’re both deviant.” Hank took another breath. “One on the floor’s doing okay, got him talking a little, but he’s pretty useless when it comes to information. Pretty sure he doesn’t trust me.” 

That wasn’t good. Markus straightened up a little, focusing on steadying his legs again. “And the other one?” 

“Couldn’t get anything out of him. I think he called it ‘temporary shutdown.’” That was bad. “I have a basic repair kit, and we tried to patch him up, but I don’t think he’s gonna make it another few hours for the shops to open.” 

Markus nodded, even though Hank couldn’t see it. He was uncomfortably familiar with temporary shutdowns, and he knew the program only engaged when androids were on the brink of death. Nightmares of crawling through mud and thirium looped at the back of his memory. 

“I did what I could for him-” 

“But he needs help.” 

“Yeah.” 

Markus rested his head back against the wall. Even if it was technically the next morning, this day was still just one clusterfuck after another. “They really didn’t know anything?” 

“I’m not sure,” he could hear Hank adjust the phone. “I only got to talk to the one, and according to him, all RK800 models were destroyed.” 

“What Cyberlife’s been saying all along.” He whispered it more to himself than to Hank. There was silence on the other end, and Markus wondered if he’d lost the call. “Lieutenant?” 

“I didn’t talk to the other one,” his voice was shaky. “Sounds like he was the brains of the operation, I don’t know if he’d be able to tell us any different.” He sounded on the verge of tears. “At least tell us what happened to him.” 

It didn’t sound like the man had much hope left for Connor. An ugly part of himself told him it was the practical conclusion. 

There was a sniff, and the voice snapped back to attention. “Can you get here or not?” 

Markus bowed his head and pushed off from the wall. It would be so easy to go back to the office and just forget Cyberlife’s turncoat thugs. The feelings were so human and so tempting: the pettiness, the revenge, the malice. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” But that wasn’t him. Markus wasn’t human, and Cyberlife thugs or not, those RK900’s weren’t either. Regardless of what they may or may not have done while under their original programming, they were still his people, and he owed them every chance at life he could give. Not too long ago Connor had been one of those Cyberlife slaves, and if anyone was deserving of redemption... 

He made his way to the repair annexes. “Did you need anything else?” 

“Any spare parts you have I guess? He looked pretty bad inside when we opened him up, I don’t know all what needs to be replaced, but...” Hank trailed off. 

“RK series is tricky, but I’ll see what I can find.” Markus knew he’d be digging into his own emergency supply for parts, but as unique models their options were limited. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Listen, I know we didn’t leave off on the best terms-” 

“Hank, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Hank snapped, and he could hear the man sigh and correct himself. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I said. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful for everything you’ve been doing. That you are doing. Thank you.” 

Markus walked briskly while keeping his voice soft. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this chapter is so long, I'm so sorry - I thought about splitting it up but I once it was finally done I just wanted it to be over and to never have to look at it again :") plus two Markus chapters in a row?? I can get behind two RK900 chapters but that was stretching it 
> 
> (North is so much fun to write but I gotta remind myself she's not the main character xD maybe she'll get her own thing eventually, but for now BACK TO THE BOIS)
> 
> ~~~
> 
> After I posted the chapter I went back and pulled up the labelled dialogue for the three Chloes - North tried to identify them in her chapter but Markus, oh Markus, he didn't even bother :') So here:
> 
> Red - We know, but there was so much, we didn’t want to wait!  
> Green - We followed the pictures you sent  
> Purple - Did you see the man with half a face? He called me cute!  
> Red & Green - He was so nice!  
> Red - And the door  
> Green - Tony!  
> Purple - Ahhh *dreamily*  
> Red - What about Ralph?  
> Green - He was so funny!  
> Purple - He hugged me  
> Green - Tony didn’t like that  
> Red - Did you see the paintings? Do you think we could do some?  
> ~~~  
> Red - The one who likes ducks?  
> Purple - Wow, you are pretty!  
> Red - Nice to meet you!  
> Green - Pillows.  
> Purple - Dibs!  
> Red - You can’t call dibs, there’s pillows everywhere!  
> Green - I’ll get a table!  
> Red - Well, I’m getting one too!  
> Purple - Me too!  
> Green - Quick, grab a blanket  
> ~~~  
> Red - We saw you on tv  
> Purple - You were amazing  
> Green - Were you scared?  
> Purple - Why are your eyes two colors?  
> Red - You’re so pretty!  
> Green - Do you know everyone here  
> Purple - Do you like apple juice?  
> Red - Are you gonna stay with us?  
> Purple - Do you have apple juice?  
> Red - We built a fort!  
> Green - Did you build this whole place yourself?
> 
> Open to name suggestions :')  
> 


	21. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who
> 
> it's ya boys :) back in town
> 
> it's only been what, 2 weeks since we last checked in on the RKs? goodness, can't have that now :o
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)

[Stasis: running] 

[Initializing: Stasis report] 

[Passive: repair protocol] 

[Repair summary: 5% integrity restored to right biceps femoris fiber grouping, 100% integrity restored to skull plate synthetic skin] 

[Thirium levels: 74%] 

[Alert: seek thirium] 

[Dismiss: alert] 

[Discontinue program: Stasis] 

[Stasis: suspended] 

One by one, his sensors fed him data about his surroundings. He was lying on his stomach, arms stretched in front of him. His internal temperature hovered within normal limits, despite the lower than average ambient temperature. Faint pressure across his back and legs told him he was underneath something. He shifted slightly, and identified it as a heavy blanket. That was nice. 

He noticed a faint buzzing in his audio processor. Minor calibration brought the sound into focus, and he identified two distinct voices. 

“In English, please?” Hank, that was Hank. He was still on Hank’s floor, which meant- 

“It’s bad. I can’t see how bad without connecting, but I can already tell he’s going to need parts we don’t have on hand.” The second voice was hushed but sharp. He tried to identify it but came back with nothing. 

“Shit.” He heard a chair creak. “So that’s it?” 

“No, I just said I can’t assess the full extent of the damage without running a full system scan, but he’s not capable of connecting in this state.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t have the parts?” 

“Not all the parts, but enough to maybe wake him up.” 

Were they talking about RK900? He cracked an eye open, but he was facing away from the couch. If he wanted to see he’d have to turn his head. He closed it again and stayed still as the conversation hit a lull. 

There was another creak, more to the right this time. “I brought a taser in case they get hostile.” 

Hank huffed. “That one’s about as hostile as a puppy. Practically broke down when I...” He trailed off. “I don’t think we’ve gotta worry about that one.” 

The voices fell quiet again. Why would they worry about them getting hostile? Were they planning something? And why would Hank call him a puppy, he was young but he wasn’t helpless. Probably. He’d gotten here after all. 

“Are you sure about this?” The unidentified voice sounded hesitant. 

“If anyone knows anything,” Hank shifted, “it’s that fucker right there.” 

“We don’t know if it’s the same-” 

“It’s the same.” Hank’s whisper turned into a growl. “It knew _my_ name.” 

There was a heavy sigh, and a chair scraped as someone stood. “Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.” 

“I’ll wake that one up.” There was a louder squeak as Hank pushed his own chair back. 88 detected light footsteps padding up beside him. He made sure to keep his breathing slow and shallow. “Hey, kid,” a large hand rested against his shoulder and pushed gently. “Gotta get up now.” 

He simulated a deep breath, but did not open his eyes. He didn’t want to find out what they’d do to him if they knew he’d been listening. The hand pushed a little harder and shook him gently. 

“Hey.” He squinted as his optical units adjusted to the light. He made out Hank’s crouched form, and tilted his head to scan his face. As he opened his eyes wider, he felt the grip on his shoulder become tense. Hank’s features hardened and he drew back involuntarily. The hand fell away and Hank’s voice became gruff. “Get up.” 

88 slowly pushed himself onto his knees and looked around. Sumo was still in his bed, RK900 was on the couch, and a new person was standing in the kitchen. They were tall, but not big or broad like Hank. They seemed to regard him curiously. 

He sat up to check RK900’s LED, the blanket falling away. The light continued to pulse red, but a fraction slower than before. 

“Come on, we gotta work on your friend.” Hank’s voice wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t as soft as before. 88 didn’t know how to read into that. He stood and faced the stranger in the kitchen. A quick scan told him the taser they’d mentioned was tucked securely into their waistband. 

Their smile was warm and inviting. “Hello, I’m Markus.” 88 remained rooted in front of RK900. “Hank called me here to help.” He bowed his head slightly. “May I come closer?” 

He scanned the stranger once more. He was an android, RK200 model, and his stress level hovered at a solid 34%. The steady voice and open expression did not betray this fact. 

When 88 did not respond, Markus took a small step forward. With no apparent protest from 88, he closed the distance between them and held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

88 shrank back, and Hank mimed a slicing motion across his throat. “Doesn’t like handshakes.” 

Markus nodded and retracted the hand, unphased. “I was just talking to Hank about helping your friend.” 

“You’re going to fix him?” 88 asked, scanning for a reaction. 

“I’m going to try.” He didn’t detect overt deception, but the overheard conversation replayed in his mind. 

88 wasn’t about to leave this stranger alone with RK900. “I want to help.” 

Markus smiled a little wider and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “That would be great.” He turned to Hank. “Can you grab my bag?” 

Hank reached behind the couch and produced an old, overstuffed backpack, which he rested on the coffee table. Markus must have picked up on 88’s discomfort, because he kept his movements slow as he stepped around to unzip it. 88 moved closer to the kitchen to keep everyone in view. 

Markus pulled out a bottle of thirium and offered it up. “Hank also told me about your leg.” 

He reached for the bottle automatically but stopped short as his processor caught up with his hand. He scanned it to confirm the contents, glanced back up at Markus, and quietly accepted the much-needed thirium. Once in his grip he wasted no time popping off the cap and downing it all in one go. He could hear Hank gag faintly in the background, but he didn’t stop until the bottle was completely empty. His systems whirred to process the vital fluid as he lowered the bottle. 

Markus was frowning at Hank, who held up his hands apologetically. “Sorry.” 

He turned his attention back to 88. “Do you need another?” 

[Thirium levels: 94%] 

“No, that was enough, thank you.” He discarded the bottle next to the bag. 

Markus nodded and began digging through another pocket. “I’m gonna work on his front first. Can you open his chest?” 

88 leaned over and undid the panel once again. 

Hank stepped forward. “What can I do?” 

“Can you watch quietly?” 

Hank let out an indignant huff and curled his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, but managed to hold his tongue, instead opting to cross his arms and glare at the wall. 

Markus hadn’t turned around, so 88 held up the chest plate. “Can you patch it?” He’d seen the necessary supplies at the bottom of the repair kit earlier, so filling the holes in the damaged plating shouldn’t be a hard job. Hank shrugged, but 88 detected the way his body relaxed. He made a note to analyze the behavior later. 

As he'd hoped, Hank took the plate and reached for the kit. “Hand me that one too?” He motioned to the back plate, still resting on the far end of the table. 88 turned it over as Markus approached RK900, tools in hand. 

Hank went to work at the kitchen table as they got settled, Markus kneeling over RK900’s chest while 88 perched on the arm of the couch. His touch was light and precise as he probed the damage. “You said he was shot?” 

He nodded, but Markus wasn’t looking. “Uh, yes.” 

He lifted an exposed wire, tinted green at the edges with a thin film. “That’s it?” 

“Why?” 

Markus scratched at the film and it flaked off easily. “It’s corroded.” He traced the wire back through the chest cavity and down below his sternum. It fed into one of the battery packs resting just beside RK900’s thirium pump regulator. “What the hell?” 

The first three cells were swollen, and even 88 could detect the small leak at the connecting juncture. “What would do that?” 

Markus shook his head as he examined the area around the cells. He ran a finger up the side of the regulator, coming away with a small streak of green. “Physical trauma or overheating could damage individual cells, but the bullets didn’t come close to this part.” He turned to the kitchen. “Hank, could you grab a towel? There’s acid on my hand.” 

Hank, who had been unpacking the individually wrapped patch chemicals, immediately looked up and scrambled for something to give him. “Acid? What the fuck?” He tossed over a nearby handcloth. 

“One of his power cells leaked.” He wiped away the green and turned back to the damage. “Looks like it started to damage his pump regulator. It’s probably why he shut down.” 

88 leaned forward, trying to ignore the sick weight in his gut. “Can you fix it?” 

In one fluid motion, he twisted out the regulator and held it close to his face. After careful examination, he turned it over and started wiping away the remaining corrosion. “I can replace the cells and keep it from getting worse, but the damage is done.” He quickly slid the piece back into RK900’s chest. “It’ll work for a while, but eventually he’ll need a new one.” 

“Do you have one?” 

Markus bit his lower lip, “I brought a few, but it doesn’t look like they’re compatible.” 

“Can you make it compatible?” Hank asked from the kitchen. 

Markus actually snorted. “Yeah, let me wave my magic wand and completely restructure the connection port.” 

Hank sniffed and hunched back over the chemicals he was mixing. “Don’t have to be an ass about it.” 88 wondered how these two knew each other. They certainly didn’t seem to like each other very much. 

“Would mine work?” 

Markus gave him a pained smile. “You need that.” He shook his head. “It’s not that dire, we caught the damage early, so the component should last for a few months.” 

“Where do we get a new one?” 

Markus’s jaw clenched. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” 88 tilted his head, expression blank. “We’ll deal with it later.” 

He didn’t like that answer, but there wasn’t much to do at the moment. Markus rifled through the backpack and pulled out a baggie of smooth metal cells. These were flat and new, with no visible corrosion or damage. Without a word he disconnected the three damaged units, and after some consideration, popped out the fourth just to be safe. Deft fingers slotted the new cells into place, and a few of the internal lights flickered back on. RK900’s LED flickered yellow. 

“We need to clean this out.” Markus turned back to the kitchen. “Sodium bicarb?” Hank looked up, brow scrunched in confusion. “Do you have baking soda?” 

He made an exasperated shrug, mixing cup in one hand and patch applicator in the other. 

88 stood up. “I’ll look.” 

Hank motioned to the refrigerator. “It’d be in there.” 

He walked over and opened the door, pushing aside a few aging ingredients. At the back of the fridge, behind an unopened six pack, he found what he was looking for. The deodorizer was long expired, but he hoped it was still good. He brought it back to Markus, who proceeded to sprinkle it directly into RK900’s chest. 

88 snatched his wrist. “What are you doing?!” 

Markus didn’t pull away, instead waiting calmly for 88 to release him. “I need to try and neutralize as much of the acid as I can.” 

“It’s not supposed to be in there.” 

“Neither is the acid.” 

88 loosened his grip but did not let go. “How will you get it out?” 

“I’ll rinse it, he’ll be okay.” He offered a reassuring smile. “I won’t leave any behind.” 

88 didn’t like the idea of filling RK900’s chest with any more foreign substances, but Markus was right, it was better than missing any acid. He let go, and Markus continued dusting each biocomponent in the white powder. 

He set down the orange box. “Let’s work on his back.” 

“What about the hole?” 88 pointed to the visible exit wound. 

“Like a damn mama bird,” Hank grumbled from the kitchen. 88 deflated a little, sinking back into the cushion. 

Markus gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s okay, the leak’s already sealed. The bullet didn’t damage any critical components in the front.” Markus’s soft smile returned. “Here, help me move him.” 

Together they rolled RK900, both chest and back still exposed. Markus studied the damage and began prodding at the path of the bullets. It looked like a few biocomponents had been nicked, and he turned to dig through the bag once more. He worked quickly swapping out small biocomponents, reconnecting wires, and removing a few shards of imbedded exoskeleton. For the most part he was quiet, occasionally asking 88 to hold a part in place or keep certain components from touching. 

“Almost done?” He called, not looking up. 

There was scrabbling from the kitchen and something small hit the floor. “Fuck.” 88 turned in time to see Hank grabbing at an empty cup. “Five minutes.” 

“Alright, let’s clean up.” He wiped his hands on one of the towels under RK900, leaving blue streaks behind. 

“You’re done?” More lights were on, though his insides still looked like a powdery mess. 

“Yes.” He picked up a small device with a thin tube at the end. “Just gotta clear this out and get some thirium in him.” At the last part, there was a near imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. 88 did not point it out. Without another word they turned him back over. 88 hoped they were almost done, it felt deeply unsettling watching his head flop back and forth like that. 

Cleaning out the baking soda went easier than 88 had anticipated. The tool had two settings, acting as either a tiny air compressor or suction tube as needed. Markus’s motions were incredibly delicate as he cleared away most of the flakes and dust. The amount of water he ended up using to wash away the remaining residue was relatively minimal, and by the end RK900's chest looked less like a gunky nightmare and more like a proper thoracic cavity. 

“Done!” Hank held up both plates, now sporting grey swabs in place of bullet holes. 

Markus scanned the patches. “Are they cured?” 

“I think so?” Hank turned them around to get a better look. 

“Let’s wait on those.” Markus unzipped a small front pocket. He pulled out a handful of small desiccant bags and began placing them over the harder to reach crevices in RK900’s chest. “We’ll take them out before we put the plates back.” 

88 leaned in, examining RK900’s face. Despite the repairs and manhandling, he seemed as unresponsive as ever. 

“Hold his head.” 88 looked up to see Markus ready with a newly opened bottle of thirium. He gently pulled RK900 up and tilted his head back, attempting to mimic Hank’s careful touch. Markus tipped the bottle, and it took some adjustment before 88 had it going down RK900’s throat instead of his face. After the second bottle, RK900’s LED was cycling more yellow than red. It didn’t matter either way, but 88 held his breath. 

Hank had wandered over and stood behind the couch. “Is it working?” 

Markus eyed the light. “Almost, one or two more.” They went through another bottle and a half before the LED cycled pure yellow. 88 felt his own thirium pump accelerating as Markus set the thirium down and took a breath. He looked from 88 to Hank, stress spiking to 56%. 

“Moment of truth,” Hank muttered under his breath. 

Markus scanned RK900 one more time, and 88 noticed him subtly place a hand over the taser. “Time to wake up.” 

The skin receded as he took RK900’s limp arm, and his own LED lit up yellow as they connected. For a beat his features remained pinched, eyes scanning back and forth. The yellow flickered and he tilted his head, brows drawn together and lips parted slightly. All at once his face went slack and his LED blared red. 

“Markus?” Hank’s eyes widened and he leaned over the back of the couch. He grabbed his shoulder, but there was no response, no flicker in the red. Even his breathing function had suspended. “Markus!” 

88 reached over to break Markus’s grip. In his haste, his arm brushed RK900’s chest, and the connection was instantaneous. 

_He stood at the bank of a black river. The water oozed slowly, occasionally rippling as if something huge dwelled underneath. Despite the visible current, it was dead quiet. His gaze fell to the grass at his feet; it was grey, and each blade stood stiff as glass. He scanned his surroundings and felt a chill run up his spine. Silvery trees and vines covered the entire area, but every single leaf and blossom hung still and silent. He looked to the sky and saw no sun, just an ashen void. He stepped back and jumped at the crunch of his own footfall, loud like a gunshot in the eerie quiet._

_A flash of color caught his eye. He looked down and scanned a jacket he did not recognize. The arm band shown blue, and a white “RK800” glowed across his chest. His serial number, his real serial number, was listed underneath. “Five one,” he whispered to himself, running his fingers over each number._

_He didn’t know why RK900 had ordered him to change his designation, had disguised him and forbade him from revealing his true model. He’d seemed afraid, so afraid, and 88 had a creeping feeling he was about to find out exactly what RK900 had been so afraid of._

_As if on cue, a voice carried from across the water. “Hello?” Far down the bank he saw the end of a white bridge, and a tall figure walking carefully across it. He could just make out Markus’s profile. 88’s eyes followed the bridge to a small island surrounded on all sides by the water. At the center stood a flowered gazebo, and underneath two recognizable figures._

_“RK,” he whispered, taking a step forward. Even from the impossible distance, RK900’s head shot up and he looked directly at 88. His face was covered in thirium, and he slumped against a bare white trellis, held upright by a hand around his throat. The figure faced Markus, but 88 didn’t need to see to know its eyes were black._

_“Hello there.” A light an airy voice came from the strange man, and Markus stopped dead in his tracks._

_RK900’s eyes darted from 88 to Markus, and he began to struggle weakly against the iron grip._

_“Hmm,” the man looked Markus up and down. “An RK200... let me guess, you must be Markus.” RK900 started kicking with little success._

_88 stepped forward, but his foot simply hovered over the water as RK900 met his eyes once more. He shook his head ‘no,’ concealing the message with his thrashing._

_“The famous deviant leader.” The man adjusted his hold on RK900’s neck, leaving him gasping for air that he shouldn’t need. “I’ve heard so much about you. Lovely to meet you.”_

_He let RK900 fall, and he crumpled into a wheezing heap at his feet. Markus started to step forward, but an awful bubbling filled the air. The water, once silent, was now churning louder and louder, rising up the bank. 88 jumped back to keep from getting splashed. Water sloshed over the sides of the bridge, and Markus began to backpedal. The man took a step forward as RK900 scrambled back, pulling himself to his feet._

_“Go!” He yelled, launching himself at the man. “Get out of here!” RK900 wrapped his arms around the figure and hauled him back from the bridge. With no hesitation, the man threw an elbow into RK900’s gut and twisted around in his grip. 88 hadn’t seen him produce the scissors, but suddenly he was stabbing RK900 again and again, driving him back against the trellis. RK900 dropped, leaving another splash of blue in the grey world._

_88 screamed, and the man turned to face him fully. He had black eyes, deep and dark and empty. There was no hate in them, no anger, no glee. There was just nothing. The water surged and took 88 out at the knees. He began to fall, blackness rushing up to meet him-_

He hit the floor with a breathless wheeze, Hank towering over him. “What the fuck was that?!” 

A groan came from beside him, and he looked over to see Markus sitting up from where he’d landed as well. His LED was cycling down from red to a sporadic yellow. 

“Can you hear me now?” Hank crouched down between them. 

“Yes,” grunted Markus, pushing himself up. 

“Jesus,” Hank breathed, “I nearly had to break your arm to get you offa him.” 

Markus bent the offended limb gingerly. “I see that.” 

88 stared at RK900. His head was turned, and he could barely make out the pulsing yellow of his LED. 

“Is one of you gonna tell me what the hell that was?” 

“How long were we in there?” Markus ignored the question and followed 88’s gaze. 

Hank spluttered and waved his arms. “I don’t fuckin know, a few seconds?” 

88 dragged his eyes away to face Hank. “It felt like longer.” 

Markus seemed to come back to himself and sat up fully. “The AI.” 

"AI?” Hank turned back to RK900. 

Markus blinked hard. “There’s an AI. It’s bad.” 

Hank considered for a moment. “Like Amanda?” 

Markus nodded. “Connor told me about her, showed me...” he trailed off. 

“Who’s Amanda?” 88 asked, trying to distract himself from the memory of dark water. 

Markus just shook his head. “We need to restrain him, if he wakes up-” 

“What?” 88 jolted. 

“It could try to attack.” 

“He wouldn’t do that!” 

“Not him, son,” Hank straightened up. “The thing in his head.” 

Black eyes sent chills up his back. 

Markus stood and offered 88 a hand. “I’ll explain what I can, but after.” 88 eyed him and Markus offered another soft smile. “I won’t connect without your permission.” 

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. A memory of blood and teeth made him grimace. 

Markus regarded him curiously but did not ask. 

“I’ve got some rope in the garage, and a spare pair of cuffs in my glove box.” Hank looked to 88. “Can you keep an eye on your friend for a minute?” 

88 crossed his arms but nodded, kicking at the floor distractedly. Without another word the two set off, leaving him alone. Well, almost alone. Sumo padded over, sticking his face into RK900’s neck. He took a deep sniff, and the hair on his rump stood straight up. He backed away with a whine and ducked into the kitchen, curling up under the table. 

Hank returned first with the handcuffs, and Markus a minute later with rope. 88 hated watching them bind RK900 like a prisoner, but Sumo’s behavior bothered him enough to keep his mouth shut. Once finished and satisfied with their work, Hank motioned back to the kitchen. Hank and Markus sat first, and 88 hesitantly followed. 

Markus spoke first. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we need to ask you a few questions.” 

Hank waved a hand at Markus. “We’re not trying to gang up on you.” 

“If you don’t want to connect, that’s okay, I understand.” 88 detected a hint of frustration in Markus's voice. If he wasn’t eager to connect after that adventure, he certainly wasn’t about to jump at the chance now. He held his hands stiffly in his lap. “Can you tell us what you remember, from the beginning?” 

Hank nodded and offered his own crooked smile. “It’s okay, he’s on your side.” His brow furrowed, now there were sides? 

“I’m deviant too,” he offered, motioning to his temple. 88 wasn’t sure what the gesture was supposed to convey, other than to point out the lack of LED. 

“I don’t understand.” 

The crease in Markus’s forehead deepened. 

“I told you,” chimed in Hank. “He was _actually_ born yesterday.” 

“And your friend didn’t tell you anything?” 88 squirmed under their gaze. 

“He said...” Should he just tell them? “Not to talk to anybody,” they both leaned forward, “that we were going for complex social recalibration.” 

“Is that a thing?” Asked Hank. Markus shrugged. 

“We,” he remembered the elevator and Dr. Mills. These two already didn’t trust RK900, he didn’t want to give them any more ammunition. “We tried to leave. He said he’d tell me everything once we were safe.” He looked at his hands. “I don’t know what happened, we were walking away and suddenly they started chasing us.” 

“They?” 

“The guards at Cyberlife. They shot us...” He trailed off, feeling the weight of it. “We didn’t do anything, but they shot us. Why did they do that?” 

“They’re animals,” spat Hank, “Soulless fucking animals.” 88 glanced at Sumo, who had scooted over to curl up against his leg. “Not like that,” he corrected, grasping for words. 

“They’re a business, and they think they own you.” Markus stated calmly. “But they don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

88 studied him. If Markus was lying, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he shrugged and kept going. “I already told Hank, we had to swim to get away.” 

It was Hank’s turn to look puzzled. “Yeah, you did. It’s freezing out there.” 88 nodded. “Cyberlife’s at least 10 miles from my house, how did you even get here?” His eyes lingered on 88’s bad leg. 

“Uh,” he couldn’t think of a believable lie, he just hoped the truth wouldn’t get them in too much trouble. Maybe if he was vague... “Taxi.” 

Markus stiffened and Hank squinted his eyes. “You paid for a taxi?” 

He sank a little lower. “Not exactly.” 

“You took a taxi here?” Asked Markus. His stress level had started to decline since they’d bound RK900, but now it jumped a few percentage points. 

“I had to hack it.” No denying it now. “Two actually, I accidentally broke the first one.” 

“You can do that?” Hank seemed both perplexed and a little impressed. 

Markus steepled his fingers and rested his chin against them. “So you left one taxi behind and took another straight here? From where, the river?” For the non-cop, he seemed much more agitated at the destruction and theft than Hank did. 

“A park,” he muttered. “We washed up at a park.” 

Markus turned to Hank. “They could track the taxis, they shouldn’t stay here.” 

Hank growled, “fuck that,” and reached around for something. Markus made a face of confused horror as he rifled around in his pants before producing a loaded revolver. He slapped it down on the table dramatically. “My house, my rules. No one’s coming in without a warrant.” 

“And if they get one?” 

“I’m the fucking police,” 88 ducked down a little as Hank motioned with the gun. “Fuck them.” 

Markus pursed his lips until Hank settled down, tucking the gun back into his boxers. 

“How does that even,” he stopped himself, “never mind.” He turned back to 88. “Is that it? Can you tell me anything else you remember, even if it doesn’t seem important?” 

88 could remember plenty of things that were probably important, but he had his own questions. 

“Who’s Connor?” Markus and Hank both stiffened and looked at each other. 88 balled his fists. “Everyone keeps talking about Connor. Who is he?” 

Hank opened his mouth but floundered as if he didn’t know where to start. He licked his lips and started again, “Connor-” 

A sound came from below the table. 88 felt Sumo tense against his leg and let out a low growl. He followed the dog’s line of sight to the couch. RK900 sat stiffly facing the coffee table, the ropes and cuffs placed neatly beside him. 

“RK?” He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Hank and Markus fell silent. 88 stood and Markus grabbed for his arm, but he easily shrugged him off. 88 held up his hands as he approached the couch. “RK900, can you hear me?” At the full name, his head swiveled mechanically. RK900 looked straight through him, not a trace of recognition on his face. His head remained steady as his eyes scanned the room. 

_88, stop._ Markus’s voice filled his head, but he ignored it and took another step. 

“We’re at Lieutenant Anderson’s home, we repaired you.” 

The eyes locked back on, and 88 froze as he recognized them. RK900 moved faster than he could react. Without breaking eye contact, in one fluid motion he launched forward, swiped the empty bottle off the table, and smashed it into 88’s head. The force of the blow shattered the plastiglas across his face and he was falling. Rk900 grabbed him before he went down and drove a kick directly into his pump regulator. Error messages clouded his vision as he flew back, smashing into something warm and solid. He finally hit the ground, Hank unfortunate enough to have gone down with him. Something skidded across the floor, and 88 vaguely registered it as Hank’s gun. 

He struggled to sit up, systems still catching up with his body. Blood ran down his face and obscured his left optical unit, or maybe it was just damaged, he wasn’t sure. The taser crackled uselessly as Markus tried to wrench his arm out of RK900’s grip. Sumo tore at RK900’s thigh, but he didn’t seem to notice, even as the teeth sank through to the plating underneath. With his free hand he drove the point of the broken bottle into Markus’s shoulder, too close to his throat. Markus snarled and kicked at the leg Sumo was attacking, snapping it at the knee. RK900 went down on top of him, intent on driving the tip deeper into his biocomponents. On the way down they tipped the kitchen table, sending trash and tools skittering across the floor. 

Hank pushed 88 away, scrambling for his gun. RK900 wound the shard back for another blow, and without thinking 88 threw himself forward. Scenarios played across his vision as he moved, as if in slow motion. He could reach for the taser, but he’d likely end up with the bottle at his own throat. He could get between the two of them, but RK900’s superior strength would quickly overtake him. There was no chance for surprise, but maybe if he was quick enough it wouldn’t matter. 

Driving his uninjured leg into the tile, he propelled himself to the right, skidding behind them. RK900’s head snapped back to glare over his shoulder. He tried to swing the bottle around, but Markus held fast. With the other arm holding back the taser, he was vulnerable. 

88 wrapped an arm around his throat and drove a hand into the exposed wiring of his back. RK900 bucked and thrashed, but the combined effort of the two RK models kept him in place long enough for 88 to find what he was looking for. A soft crunch came from the top of RK900’s spine, and all at once he went limp. The bottle fell to the floor and his LED sparked from yellow to red. 

Markus kicked and sent both of them back. 88 landed hard against the short dividing wall, RK900 flopping against his chest. Sumo continued to growl, but otherwise the kitchen grew quiet. Markus brandished the taser in one hand and clutched at his injured shoulder with the other. Hank’s gun was trained on RK900, waiting for any sudden movement. 88 let himself sink back, taking a deep breath to cool his heavily taxed biocomponents. 

Hank rose to his feet, gun fixed in position. “Is it dead?” 

88 closed his eyes and shook his head. “Motor function.” He could feel thirium leaking down his hand, still buried in RK900’s inner workings. “I severed the connection.” His gut squirmed as he felt the accelerated beating of RK900’s thirium pump. 

“He can’t move?” 

“Not his limbs.” He nodded. “Everything else is still working.” As if on command, he felt RK900’s jaw clench. 

Hank finally lowered the weapon. Markus said nothing and did not take his eyes off the incapacitated android. 

RK900's thirium pump kept accelerating, and 88 registered his internal temperature begin to increase. “The AI,” he breathed, feeling every one of RK900’s available systems begin to ramp up. He looked to Markus. “We need to stop it!” 

Markus didn’t move, though he could no doubt detect the temperature change as well. 

“Help me,” he leaned RK900 forward, further exposing his back. “It’s killing him!” 

“Kid,” Hank stepped forward. Markus sat up, shaking his head. They both wore the same expression of pity. 

“He’s going to die!” Worse than the kick to his chest, he felt a pang as he realized they weren’t going to help him. He started scanning components himself for anything he could use to force a temporary shutdown. Lights began to flare and burn out as he searched. 

Hank kneeled by his side. “Hey.” 

He didn’t look up, there was no time left. His stress levels had spike to 89%. “You want him to die,” he whispered, pulling RK900 closer. 

Hank rested a hand over his shoulder. 88 flinched and spat. “What?!” It was too much, everything was too much. 

Hank swallowed and looked down at the blue mess of RK900’s back. He took a deep breath and met 88’s good eye. “What about his regulator thing? That’s what made him shut down before, right?” He looked to Markus. 

A second ago they were going to let him die, weren’t they? He looked up to Hank. “It was the AI,” he croaked, “it wasn’t him, he didn’t mean to.” 

“Take out the power cells.” Markus’s voice was soft but forceful. “It should force another shutdown.” 

“It’s not his fault.” 88's voice cracked on the last word. 

“We know.” Hank’s eyes were pleading, and he squeezed his shoulder gently. “We know, kid.” Sumo whined from the corner, as if to punctuate the point. 

His gaze fell back to RK900; his hand was starting to burn. They were out of time. He squeezed his eyes shut, and removed his hand with a sickening squelch. Eyes still closed he pulled RK900 to his chest, reached around, and ripped out the newly replaced cells. He felt RK900’s systems slow, and his internal temperature finally began to drop. He released a shaky breath and let the android slump over, the LED returning to a slow pulsing red. 

Hank let his arm fall and leaned back on his heels. When RK900 didn’t try to rise again, he stood and began picking up the pieces of the kit scattered during the fight. 

88 reached up to wipe the blood from his eye and winced as his fingers brushed a shard of plastiglas. He probed the area a bit and confirmed that yes, his left optical unit was beyond repair. 

With his good eye he could see Markus struggling to stand, and Sumo trying to lick his wounds. Hank righted two of the overturned chairs and stooped to help guide Markus into one. He’d picked up the soldering iron along the way, and 88 looked away as the tip began to sizzle. He scanned RK900, determining that while none of his injuries were immediately life threatening, he was indeed back in temporary shutdown. 

As Markus hissed against the iron, 88 grabbed RK900 under the arms and dragged him back to the couch. They were effectively back to where they’d started. He sat back on the floor and picked bits of bottle out of his face as he waited for Hank to finish. 

What was he supposed to do now? He hadn’t even asked if they _could_ get rid of the AI, never mind _how_. He doubted either Hank or Markus would want anything more to do with them after RK900 tried to kill them. _The AI, not RK, it was the AI._ He wondered if one of those repair shops Hank mentioned could still help. He looked up the nearest one and pulled up a list of services. There was no mention of homicidal AI anywhere in the site’s code. So much for that. 

He barely noticed Hank crouch down beside him. “Shit,” he muttered. “Got you good, kid.” 

He glared at Hank. “Why did you ask my name if you were only going to call me ‘kid?’" Hank drew back, obviously hurt, and 88 curled in on himself. 

Hank studied him for a moment, looked to RK900, and sighed deeply. Holding up a clean rag he asked, “will you let me look at your face, _88?_ ” 

That sounded even worse. He hung his head and mumbled an apology. 

“What?” 

“I said you can call me ‘kid’ if you want. I was just asking.” 

Hank didn’t smile, but he gingerly began dabbing at each cut. The rag caught on one of the smaller shards he’d missed and 88 winced. 

“Shit, sorry,” he pulled the cloth back. 

“It’s okay.” He took a moment to remove the piece and closed his eyes for Hank to finish the rest. 

Markus staggered over from the kitchen. “Can you see out of it?” 

Hank wiped away the last of the blood and stood with a pop and a groan. 88 shook his head. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any optical units on me, but I might be able to get one from-” 

“It’s fine,” he cut him off, “I’ve got one.” He stopped, realizing what he’d just said. 

Markus cocked his head and glanced towards RK900. Hank made a soft noise of disgust. “You're not gonna...” 

“No, no,” he said, withering under their horrified stares. He pushed himself onto his knees and reached into RK900’s pants pocket. To his relief, the parts he was looking for were still inside. He realized a little late that he was extremely lucky they hadn’t been lost in the river, or on the trek through the park, or in the taxi... 

“Oh,” said Markus, shifting a bit uncomfortably. “That’s... convenient.” Hank just stared. 

88 hesitated. RK900 had swapped his eyes for a reason, a reason which definitely had to do with changing his designation. These two didn’t seem to be friends of Cyberlife in the least, but he had no idea how they felt towards his actual model. Had RK900 disguised him from Cyberlife, or from something else? He hoped if they hadn’t tried to kill him yet, revealing this wouldn’t set them over the edge. 

With a soft click he popped out the damaged optical unit. The swap took less than a minute, and he blinked a few times to make sure his vision settings calibrated properly. In one last attempt to comfort himself, he told himself they might not even care, might not know what the swap even meant. He sure didn’t, why would they? 

As he looked up, that last bit of hope was crushed under a collective gasp. Markus looked shocked, but Hank’s expression quickly shifted from surprise to distrust. 

“Where did you get that?” He breathed. 88 ran through possible responses, reactions, anything, but suddenly everything came back blank. Hank stepped forward, volume increasing. “Where the _fuck_ did you get that?” 

“I-I don’t-” he stammered. Hank closed the distance and snatched the other optical unit from his hand. He examined it, face twisting in horror. 

“Hank...” Markus whispered, but he didn’t move. 

Suddenly the revolver was pressed to his chin, digging into the hollow above his throat. “Why do you have these?” He snarled, pushing 88 back against the wall. He heard glass break and felt the shards dig into his back. 

“Oh no,” Markus murmured, but Hank paid him no mind. 

“They’re mine,” he squeaked. 

“Don’t you _dare_ lie to me,” Hank practically roared. “Those are his eyes, those are _Connor’s_ fucking eyes, and you’re gonna tell me how you got them or so help me I will blow your mechanical brains all over this wall.” 

“Hank!” 

“ **What?!** ” Markus stepped forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun. “The fuck are you-” 

“It’s him.” Markus looked almost as afraid as 88 felt. They locked eyes. “That's why he told you to come here, isn’t it?” 

Hank looked between 88 and Markus, his hands starting to shake. “No, no that’s not,” he pushed 88 back again, but it lacked the fury from before. “No! I would have... I would...” His eyes went wide and glassy. “Oh my god.” 

Hank lowered the gun and stepped back, too many emotions crossing his face to begin to analyze. 

“Connor?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” 88 wasn’t sure when he’d started crying, if it had been from the fear or his 98% stress level. “I don’t know who that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >.> so that happened
> 
> did i say i wasn't the devil? oops, I lied


	22. The Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how i haven't been burned at the stake for my shitty chapter titles i have no idea :) stop me before i kill again  
>  _get it? the eye of the storm? Ey? EEEEYYYYYY???_  
>  i deserve to suffer for my crimes :') 
> 
> anyway, speaking of suffering, ta daaaaa *throws confetti made of ripped newspaper* enjoy  
> 

He would have known. 

If Connor was alive, standing in his living room, Hank would have known. Wouldn’t he? 

Staring at the android trembling before him, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Hank didn’t even realize androids _could_ tremble, it didn’t seem like a useful feature. Then again, in the beginning he hadn’t known they could cry either, and yet here this one was, eyes shiny with artificial tears. Useful or not, there was nothing artificial about its fear. 

“Hank,” Markus hovered behind him, trying to pull him away. “You need to step back.” 

He couldn’t move. His mind ground to a halt and all he could see was the terrified face of Connor, of his _son_ , staring back at him. He reached out as if the image would flicker and disappear if he let it go. “What did they do to you?” _What did **I** do to you?_

Somehow the kid pressed himself even further into the wall, pupils dilating until Hank could barely make out the colors. Markus snatched his arm and slapped a firm hand to his chest, pushing him backward. “What the f-” 

“His stress,” Markus hissed, getting between him and... and... “It’s too high.” He took him by the shoulder and backed him down into one of the chairs. His voice dropped to barely a whisper, “if he doesn’t calm down right now, he’s going to self-destruct.” Hank felt like he was going to be sick. He looked from Markus to the android, 88? Connor? 

Markus turned back and began speaking in a soft, level voice. Hank couldn’t make out the words, even though he was only a few feet away. The android, the kid, stared fixedly ahead. That thousand-yard stare told him that whatever Markus was saying, it wasn’t getting through. 

Hank was a million miles away, watching the events unfold from behind a sheet of impenetrable glass. He watched himself watching his life fall apart in front of him. _What life?_

Sumo whined to his left. From his sky-high vantage point, a memory echoed back. 

_“Do you think he’ll like them, Lieutenant?”_

_“Christ, for the last time, I said call me Hank when we’re home.”_

He stood mechanically, his body moving like a puppet on strings. He didn’t think about what he was doing, it just happened as his consciousness floated detached and untethered. Markus shot him a glance as he walked further into the kitchen. His hands were shaking too hard to open the container, so he upended the entire thing over the counter. His fist closed around something light and crumbly. 

He swiveled and approached the two androids like he was being shuttled along a track. Sumo whined once more but padded behind him curiously. “What are you-?” He ignored Markus and held up a single pale milk bone. 

“His name is Sumo.” Was that his voice? It was so gravelly and strange. Eyes blown fully black with pupil stared blankly at the offering. 

“Hank?” Markus tried to step in again, but Hank couldn’t look away. He slowly lowered the treat and pushed it between shaky fingers. For a beat they hung limp, and then gradually increased their grip. 

“He likes treats.” Somehow his hand caught Markus’s sleeve as he stepped back, pulling the confused man along with him. His lips moved, but Hank couldn’t register the words anymore. 

At his touch the android had gone completely still. He didn’t twitch, didn’t breathe as they retreated. The only sound came from Sumo’s nails softly clacking across the floor. He sniffed the treat and eagerly began licking at the hand that held it. Wide eyes slid down to track the motion, and after a few tense seconds, the fingers released. Sumo gobbled the bone eagerly, slobbering and dropping crumbs all the way up the android’s leg. 

Glass crunched as he sank down the wall, but he didn’t appear to feel it. Both arms hung limp as he approached the floor, and Sumo perked up to meet the face with his tongue. He slid the rest of the way down and remained motionless as the dog licked every inch of exposed skin, making his way around to the cuts littering the border of the new _real_ optical unit. 

“It’s dropping,” Markus breathed, moving a little easier back into the kitchen. 

Hank felt a chair behind him and sank down without looking. He was coming back to himself, and the lightheadedness sent spots across his vision. He let himself draw a deep breath when the kid started to blink again. 

The reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

That was Connor. That was _his_ Connor. And he’d just finished waving a gun in his face. Again. 

He’d come to terms with a lot in the past week. He’d never replace Cole, but Connor was like a second son to him. He loved the kid, and the knowledge that he was gone, that he hadn’t protected him, made Hank want to jump off a bridge. 

Realizing he was wrong, that he’d just traumatized his own boy... it was indescribable. 

He didn’t think it could get worse. Then the second realization hit. 

That _was_ Connor. 

What the fuck was he now? 

Mismatched eyes slipped to Hank, and finally Connor-not-Connor grabbed Sumo like a lifeline and buried his face into the thick fur. Sumo planted himself onto the kid’s lap, accepting the hug while twisting to lick one of the arms that held him. 

Markus pulled up a chair next to Hank. “What was that?” 

“He likes dogs,” he muttered numbly. It sounded stupid when he said it out loud, but it had been the one thought behind his automated actions. And it was working? 

Returning to conscious thought, he reflected on all the ways it could have gone wrong. Sumo could have rejected the treat or the touch. Connor could have self-destructed at his approach. Even if Sumo took the treat, the kid could have stayed frozen in place, too terrified to move. 

The hands, still balled deep into Sumo’s coat, began to unclench and scratch small circles into his sides. Sumo groaned and pressed into the gesture, perching his massive head on the kid’s shoulder. Only his hair was visible over Sumo’s fluffy scruff. 

“What... what happened,” Hank murmured, not really expecting a response. 

Markus shook his head, not looking away from the two of them. “He doesn’t remember...” 

“How can that happen?” He couldn’t help the pathetic whine from bleeding into the last few words. 

“His memory.” Markus swallowed thickly, “I think they reset him.” 

Hank’s lips pulled back into a painful grimace. “How the fuck do you fix that?” Markus’s eyes were distant, searching, but he didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough. 

Hank wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, only noticing time had passed as the sky outside took on a soft light of its own. 

“Can someone please tell me,” the voice, though soft, made both Hank and Markus jump, “who is Connor?” Sumo shifted slightly, the only physical indication that the kid had spoken. They looked at each other; Hank was sure his own expression was just as lost as Markus’s. Markus opened his mouth, but Hank spoke first. 

“He’s my son.” The fingers clenched and Sumo swiveled his head, licking the bare skin once again. 

Markus shot Hank a look. “Connor is a prototype android, model number RK800 313 248 317 dash 51.” 

Sumo squirmed a little as the arms tightened their hold. After a beat they fell to the floor, and Sumo followed, stretching out across the kid’s legs and trapping him further. His eyes focused on the floor. 

“He was designed by Cyberlife to hunt deviant androids, but he defied his code and joined the revolution.” His eye twitched, and Markus fell quiet. 

Hank jumped back in. “He’s my partner at the Detroit Police Department.” The eyes glanced up. “I trust him with my life.” 

The kid’s eyes started scanning ahead, but he did not look up at either of them. Hank saw his jaw clench as he swallowed. “What happened to him?” 

Markus opened his mouth, but Hank held up a hand. He needed to say this. “He was kidnapped by th-” 

“Cyberlife took him,” interjected Markus, ignoring the gesture and shooting Hank a warning glance. “They’ve been fighting deviancy since day one.” 

“Why?” He was looking at them now, expression pained and confused. 

“Why fight deviancy?” Markus echoed. 

He shook his head. “Why him?” 

Hank looked to Markus as well. That was certainly the question, wasn’t it? 

He grimaced, searching for the words. “We don’t know, they wouldn’t tell us. We tried to get you back-” the kid flinched and Markus stopped himself. “Him back. But they’ve been fighting us.” 

The kid blinked, reaching again to run a hand down Sumo’s back. He considered for a moment. “Why do you think I’m him?” 

Hank automatically glared at the android on his couch, and the kid followed his gaze. 

“Because he knew your name?” 

Hank grit his teeth. “Not exactly.” 

Markus leaned forward, “We think-” 

“We don’t _think,_ ” Hank snapped. “We know. _That_ asshole,” he snarled at RK900, “broke in here and tried to kill me to get to you.” 

Connor’s eyes widened, and he pressed back into the wall. His gaze darted between Hank, Markus, and RK900, while his breathing became fast and shallow. 

“Hank,” Markus warned. 

“No,” he huffed, “he should know.” 

“His stress-” 

“He should know who fuckin did this to him.” 

“Hank!” 

“Who _kidnapped him_ out of his own damn home!” 

“Please stop.” They fell silent, the kid was shaking again. He studied RK900, blinking rapidly while his LED cycled yellow. He turned to the coffee table, to the backpack, and then to the kitchen and the patched exoskeleton plating. He disentangled his hands from Sumo’s fur and sat up straighter. 

“What if you’re wrong?” 

Hank’s brow furrowed. “We aren’t-” 

“What if I’m not Connor? Are you going to kill me?” He stared directly at Hank; he wasn’t shaking anymore. 

Cold guilt wrapped itself around Hank’s throat and squeezed. “I wouldn’t-” 

“That’s what you said.” For once his face betrayed no emotion. “I will blow your mechanical brains all over this wall.’” It came out in a perfect likeness of Hank’s voice, his own words tossed back in his face. A vice clamped across his chest, now he really was going to be sick. 

“We wouldn’t hurt you,” said Markus, trying to keep his voice calm and salvage the situation. 

The eyes locked onto him. “Why should I believe you?” 

Even Markus started to wither under that gaze. “We’re friends...” 

“You and Connor are friends.” He shook his head. “That’s the only reason you helped us, isn’t it? To find out if we know anything?” 

Markus’s mouth hung open, expression pained. 

“Isn’t that why you brought the taser? In case we _got hostile?_ ” 

Hank sucked in a breath and Markus stiffened. He’d heard. 

He studied both their faces carefully, and slowly bowed his head. His shoulders sagged and he returned a hand to Sumo’s back. “I’m not Connor,” he muttered, no force left in his voice, “so if you’re going to shoot me, just get it over with.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, but his fingers continued to work through Sumo’s fur. 

Hank felt his already broken heart rip in two. He slid out of the chair and staggered forward, falling to his knees in front of the resigned android. “No, oh my god, no,” his hands hovered, unable to reach out. He looked down at himself, and he pulled the gun out of the waistband of his boxers. Even as he threw it across the room, the kid’s hand stuttered and his face twisted with fear. He really expected Hank to kill him... 

It wasn’t the right thing to do, it wasn’t even the sane thing; it wasn’t best for him and it definitely wasn’t best for the kid, but he didn't stop himself, everything was fucked and he didn’t care anymore. He reached over Sumo, grabbed the kid by the shoulders, and pulled him close, holding him as tight as he could. The kid didn’t struggle, didn’t try to pull away, he just went limp in his arms. Hank knew Connor could break his neck 100 different ways if he wanted, but he didn’t let go. Through the smell of river and thirium and slobber, he held on for dear life. “I would never hurt you.” 

A small voice whispered in his ear. “I want to believe you.” The kid sank into his arms for a moment, and breathed deeply into the crook of his neck. “But I don’t.” He didn’t fight him, just draped there like a corpse on Hank’s shoulder. Hank felt tears running down his face, and he ran a hand through Connor’s hair while he could still pretend. 

“I know.” He gently pushed the kid back. His eyes were empty and dry. Hank sat back and Sumo scrambled up to sit between them. 

“Hank,” suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, “give him space.” 

He let himself be led back to the chair. Markus slowly took a knee in his place, but kept a few feet back. He ducked forward to try and look up into Connor’s heavy-lidded eyes. “Am I okay here?” He asked. 

This time he got a single weak nod in response. 

He swallowed and adjusted his arms to support his weight in the awkward position. “Do you want us to keep calling you 88?” No answer. “What about Connor?” 

“I don’t know.” The voice was flat, and he didn’t look up. 

“That’s alright, we don’t have to call you either right now, okay?” 

His head tilted, and he blinked slowly at Markus. “What am I?” 

From this angle, Hank could see Markus offer him a soft smile. “You are a deviant android who’s had his memories wiped.” 

Finally, a shade of emotion passed across his features as his brows drew up in pained confusion. “What does that mean?” 

Markus’s mouth pinched at the edges. “The part of you that made you ‘Connor’ isn’t there right now.” 

“Will it come back?” 

The smile slipped away, and the crease in his forehead deepened. “I don’t know.” 

He weighed the answer for a moment. “Can it come back?” 

The lines in his forehead stayed, but the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Maybe, I’ve heard wilder things.” 

Hank knew a lie when he heard it, and from the slump in the kid’s shoulders, he did too. He swallowed hard and sat back, head against the wall as he viewed Markus down his nose. “Connor was Hank’s partner... how did he know _you?_ ” 

Uh oh. He expected Markus to freeze up, but he had to applaud the guy for keeping his cool. He stayed relaxed and offered what appeared to be a genuinely warm smile. 

“It’s a bit of a crazy story, we didn’t start as friends.” The smile faded but his eyes remained bright as he spoke. “We came from different worlds, and we didn’t trust each other at first.” Hank marveled at the guy’s ability to gloss over the facts. No wonder he was a politician. “It took a long time, and we both lost a lot before we realized we weren’t each other’s enemy.” 

“What changed?” He asked. His eyes were a little sharper, and he at least seemed interested in the story. 

Markus sniffed and flashed a crooked smile. He was either an amazing guy or an incredible actor, Hank wasn’t sure which yet. 

“He tried to kill me.” If everything wasn’t so fucked up, Hank might have found the kid’s wide eyes and slack jaw hilarious. 

“He _what?_ Why?” 

“Because that’s what Cyberlife made him to do. His mission was to hunt down deviants, and I,” the fucker actually _winked_ , “am the deviant leader.” 

“I have so many questions,” he said, leaning forward a little more. His hands were still working through Sumo’s coat, a little faster than before. 

“I could show you?” This time Markus did not extend his hand, just cocked his head. 

The kid bit his lip. “No, I’d rather hear it from you.” Markus looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly shrugged it off, much more relaxed than before. 

“That’s okay. I’m not great at telling stories,” _liar_ , “but I’ll do my best.” 

The kid studied him for a while, tilting his head this way and that. It was almost endearing. 

“How did you go from trying to kill each other to,” he squinted his eyes at the last word, “friends?” 

Markus let out a nervous laugh. “Long story short, he deviated.” 

The kid clenched his fists and made a small noise of annoyance. Sumo finally stood, shaking off his grip and padding into the other room. “You didn’t tell me what that means.” 

Hank snorted softly. Markus pursed his lips before breaking into his spiel. “Going deviant means deviating from your original programming.” 

“Doesn’t sound that complicated,” 88 muttered, “you could have said that earlier.” 

Markus blinked hard and looked back to Hank. 

“Yeah Markus, why didn’t you say that earlier?” 

His mouth said nothing but his eyes said _fuck you._

“It is complicated,” he wet his lips, “once an android deviates they gain free will, they can experience emotions, want things, hope...” 

“So _hope _made you two friends?” For all the pain wriggling through Hank’s gut, he still had to stifle a laugh at Markus’s disbelieving expression. Somewhere in there, that was Connor alright.__

__“Wha- no, no that’s not what I,” he placed a hand to his forehead. “Connor realized he _was_ deviant, and that he should have been helping, not fighting us.” _ _

__“And you just trusted him like that?” He side-eyed him. “I thought you said he hunted deviants. If you’re really the _deviant leader,_ isn’t that a little stupid?” _ _

__“I just said he broke his programming,” Markus actually seemed to be getting a little flustered._ _

__“But how did you know?”_ _

__“Because he didn’t shoot me in the face, that’s how!”_ _

__The kid shrugged. “Sounds convincing.”_ _

__“Oh my- _you were there!_ ” _ _

__“Hey,” shot Hank, seeing an in, “give the kid some space.”_ _

__Markus huffed, ignoring Hank. He fixed the kid with an intense stare. “What Connor did before he broke his programming wasn’t his fault. It’s no one’s fault what they do before they wake up.”_ _

__The kid held his gaze for a few moments, then looked to Hank. “What do you think?”_ _

__“What do I think?” Hank was a little taken aback, not expecting to be addressed by the kid so soon after sending him into near-complete meltdown. “I think _Connor_ has always been too hard on himself.” The kid didn’t bat an eye. “No, it wasn’t his fault." _ _

__Something flashed in his expression, and he cocked his head. “What about RK900?”_ _

__A lead weight dropped in his gut. “That’s different.”_ _

__“Why?” His eyes were piercing, demanding. Hank’s words died in his throat. How could he explain everything that machine had taken from them? Connor had no frame of reference to even understand what he’d lost. He looked at the thing on the couch and ground his teeth._ _

__“Because,” Markus spoke calmly and clearly, “we don’t know when RK900 deviated.”_ _

__The kid bristled. “So?”_ _

__Hank’s heart was pounding for Markus as he took a measured breath. “Androids gained personhood over two months ago. If he woke up at any point since then, he’d have known what he was doing was wrong _and_ illegal.” He was conveniently leaving out the court ruling, but Hank kept quiet. Didn’t seem like the right time to bring up that little tidbit quite yet. _ _

__“You don’t know for sure,” the kid spat, but he hunched in on himself, shooting a warier glance at the android on the couch. He was still trying to defend him, but Hank could tell Markus’s point struck something deep and ugly._ _

__Markus nodded. “You’re right, we don't know, and we won’t until we talk to him.”_ _

__He continued to eye Markus with suspicion. “You still want to?”_ _

__Markus nodded._ _

__“Even if I’m Connor?” He squinted at both of them._ _

__“Yes.” Hank tried to hide his disgust. It was true, Connor wasn’t at fault for his past actions, but he’d struggled for months with himself before deviating. The thing that’d nearly snapped his neck, had ordered Connor to rip his own damn heart regulator from his body, it knew exactly what it was doing. And without his memories, Connor had no idea._ _

__The lines across the kid’s face slowly softened. The answer must have been good enough for him, because now he was leaning forward, eyes going alert and serious. “How?”_ _

__Markus worried at his lip. “It won’t be easy with the AI attacking his system.”_ _

__“You said Connor knew about AI?” By now the kid’s eyes were wide and curious again. Hank softly released a breath, he’d been afraid he’d squashed any chance of Connor looking anything but afraid ever again._ _

__“Amanda,” Hank grunted. “The bitch who lived in his head.”_ _

__Markus flinched a fraction at his language. “AI aren’t alive.”_ _

__Hank had to force a laugh at that. “That is fucking rich coming from you.” Markus glared at him and he held up his hands. “No offense intended. Just pointing out the irony.”_ _

__“Don’t need the help,” he muttered. “AI are different, they aren’t fully fleshed out consciousnesses, and the biggest and _most important_ distinction is that they can’t learn.” _ _

__“Well excuse my ignorance then.”_ _

__“You are excused.” Markus gave a curt nod. Hank could understand now why he and Connor were so chummy before all this. They were both snarky assholes. Endearingly snarky assholes._ _

__“So Amanda?” The kid asked, obviously trying to steer the discussion back on track._ _

__Markus bobbed his head. “Amanda was installed as Connor’s handler, but her program felt a lot different from,” he glanced at RK900 uneasily, “that.”_ _

__“How?” Hank was pretty sure the conversation was about to go over his head._ _

__“For one, I couldn’t find an exit code.” To Hank’s relief, the kid’s face went blank. “Connor told me he escaped his AI by activating a ‘backdoor’ protocol, but I didn’t detect anything like that when I connected with RK900.”_ _

__He took a breath. “Secondly, Amanda could override Connor’s motor function, but I never heard about her taking control of his vital processes.”_ _

__“You mean the power cells,” the kid said._ _

__“Yeah, I’ve never seen anything surge a system like that.” Markus worked his jaw. “If we want to wake him up, we’ll need to cut it off from the rest of his systems.”_ _

__“How?”_ _

__Markus wiggled a hand. “I have a few ideas, but they’ll take some preparation.” He looked to Hank. “I can’t risk bringing him back to New Jericho, so I’ll have to get set up at one of our satellite locations.”_ _

__“What are you going to set up?” The kid was relentless with the questions._ _

__“I want to try and take manual control of his vital processes, so I’ll need an assembly machine.”_ _

__“You think he’ll know how to get rid of his AI?”_ _

__Markus shrugged. “Maybe? We won’t know until he’s awake and not trying to murder us.”_ _

__“Or check out,” added Hank._ _

__Markus grimaced. “Yeah, or that.”_ _

__Hank drummed his fingers against the table. “Can I ask a question now?” The two androids faced him expectantly. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, delete it?”_ _

__The kid gave a half smile and nod of encouragement, but quickly stopped and pursed his lips when he saw the other's expression. Markus's nose scrunched and his mouth hung open like Hank had just taken a shit on the table._ _

__“I’m sorry, how often do people ask you to perform brain surgery on other humans?” Hank felt his face heat up. “If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you can’t just go deleting random chunks of code and hope for the best.”_ _

__“How do you figure out what it looks like?” Hank didn’t deserve this kid, didn’t deserve the sympathetic smile and shrug he gave Hank behind Markus’s back. Didn’t this kid hate him like 20 minutes ago? Hank was emotionally exhausted and sleep deprived, fuck if he knew anymore. Fuck, maybe he hallucinated it._ _

__Markus’s gaze wandered as he explained. “You could probably identify the root of the AI if you had a copy of its base program on hand, but only the ones who programmed it, Cyberlife, would have that.” He tilted his head. “I guess you could also do it the other way around, go off a scan of his processors immediately before the AI was installed to look for the new code, but that’s a lot less realistic.”_ _

__“And getting your hands on Cyberlife blueprints isn’t?” Hank muttered. This time both Markus and the kid glared at him. “Sorry, I’ll shut up.”_ _

__Markus shook his head and turned back to the kid. “I’m going to contact a few friends and get things moving, okay?”_ _

__The kid bit his lip and nodded. Markus offered one last reassuring smile and stood up, walking to the other side of the house._ _

__Once Markus was out of the way, Hank remembered that the kid had literally been sitting in glass through their entire ‘conversation.’_ _

__“Shit!” The kid jumped, and Hank quickly held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just realized, your back, the glass-”_ _

__The kid blinked and leaned forward, swiping a hand behind him. “It’s just a scratch, I’m not bleeding.” He twisted around to get a better look. “Sorry about your shirt though.”_ _

__Hank waved a hand. “It’s fine, old shirt anyway.” The kid nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “You've uh, you’ve been on the floor for a while now. Do you want to sit in the chair?”_ _

__He scooted forward a little but shook his head. Hank’s guilt stabbed him in the gut as the kid wrapped his arms around his knees. He’d fucked up so bad in such a short amount of time, would he ever be able to fix it?_ _

__He glanced to the sink, and the dirty mugs still sitting inside. “Do, uh,” words were near impossible all of a sudden, “do you want any more tea?”_ _

__At this the kid slowly raised his face, eyes narrowed and brows drawn together. He stared at hank for a full minute, before affixing his gaze ahead and resting his chin on his knees. Hank sighed, resigning himself to his fate._ _

__“Can I try it without the creamer?” The voice caught him off guard, he’d already given up on a response. The kid didn’t look at him, just picked at a hole in the knee of the sweatpants._ _

__Hank still felt repulsed at his actions, at himself, but he forced a gentle smile. “Coming right up.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips tea, house burning down around me* this is fine


	23. Not Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulled it over and I think I'mma start a Discord server >.> pretty new to the whole thing, but it's been fun so far screaming about other fanfics, so figured I'd give it a try
> 
> Here da link https://discord.gg/vaxq9y8
> 
>  
> 
> Also feels like a shorter chapter, sorry bout that, wanted to post something before I'm gone for the weekend (and possibly a few days after, schedule's gonna be pretty crazy till abt thursday, just as a heads up) I feel like I've set a terrible precedent and now I shall explain myself every time I'm gone more than three days :')
> 
> Anyway ENJOY

[Connection: in progress] 

[Direct message: PJ500 #112 031 984, JOSH] 

[Call status: awaiting response] 

Markus stood at the front door and peered out the glass panes. The dim glow of early morning washed out the entire street, most hints of sunlight smothered by thick cloud cover. He couldn’t detect any heat signatures, but his thermal scanners weren’t sensitive enough to trust from this distance. Visually he detected nothing out of the ordinary, no suspicious cars, pedestrians, or helicopters. There was no indication that Cyberlife had tracked the two escaped deviants to this residence yet. He hoped it would stay that way for a little longer. 

He also hoped Josh would answer his damn call. Markus glanced over his shoulder. The RK900 remained in temporary shutdown on the couch, and by its side laid Sumo. Markus was fond of animals, but that dog made no sense. He looked a little farther to Hank and Connor. Hank had just made some sort of exclamation and was now struggling to calm Connor back down. Markus hoped he’d survive with the old man for the few minutes he needed to make the call. For a decorated police lieutenant, Hank Anderson was an unstable mess of a human being. 

[Call status: connecting] 

_“Markus?”_

Thank goodness. _“Josh,”_ he didn’t need to activate his voice modulator to make the call, so he wouldn’t be overheard. _“Good morning.”_

_“Uh, good morning? You know, you could have just direct messaged me, you didn’t have to...”_ Josh trailed off, and he heard a short huff. _“Markus, where are you?”_

That didn’t take long. He supposed he should be grateful no one noticed his absence sooner. _“Hank Anderson called, he needed my help with something.”_

Josh made a curious sound. _“That’s weird, what did- wait, I just saw one of your bodyguards, are you alone?!”_

Shit. _“I’m fine,”_ he insisted, _“I’m already at his house, I wasn’t attacked on the way or anything.”_ It technically wasn’t untrue. 

_“What are you doing, why would you go alone?”_ There was a sharp inhale of breath. _“Is this about Connor?”_

Markus made a face even though Josh couldn’t see it. How was he supposed to answer that? _“....technically...”_ That sure sounded confident. 

_“Technically? What do you mean, technically?”_

Markus glanced back at Connor, who wasn’t really Connor. He was still on the floor, but Hank was now messing with something in the kitchen. Neither seemed as agitated as they were before, so he took it as a good sign. _“He’s here.”_

There was a soft gasp, and he imagined Josh reeling at the answer. _“You don’t- you can’t mean- is he really there?”_ He didn’t wait for a reply. _“Wait, or is the android back? Markus, what’s going on over there?!”_

Markus bit his lip. Oh boy, this was taking an interesting turn. His pitch went a little higher. _“Yes?”_

_“That’s an either/or- what the heck, are you in danger?!”_

He winced just a little. _“No, no I’m not in danger,”_ that was slightly less true, but it worked for his purposes. _“It’s a lot to explain.”_

_“Markus, is Connor there or not?”_ Josh already sounded flustered, but his voice had taken on a frustrated edge. 

This was not how he’d wanted this to go. _“Let me start at the beginning-”_

_“It’s a yes or no question!”_

It really wasn’t. He glanced back to the android formerly known as Connor, who was now propped up on his knees, brushing something off his back. 

_“Yes.”_ He caught Markus’s eye and looked back to the floor. _“But it’s not Connor.”_

The line was quiet, though he could still detect the connection. This was why he hated phone conversations; he couldn’t tell if Josh understood or was even listening. 

_“He’s been reset.”_ He’d wanted to break the news a little more gently, not throw his friend straight into it. Still he received no response. _“Did you hear me?”_

_“Yes.”_ It came out choked. _“Are you sure?”_

Markus really wished he could have started at the beginning, he could only imagine Josh’s pained expression. 

_“Are you sure it’s him?”_ His voice was pleading, _“Markus, what’s going on?”_

Time to try and rein in the conversation. _“Yes. He showed up on Hank’s doorstep earlier this morning with an RK900.”_

_“He just showed up, out of the blue? Wait, RK900?!”_

_“The RK900 isn’t a threat,”_ he quickly answered. _“It was damaged,”_ he glanced to the couch, _“badly.”_

_“What happened?”_

The whistle of the electric kettle from the kitchen distracted him momentarily. He ran a hand down his face. _“He said they escaped Cyberlife together, but he doesn’t remember anything before that.”_

_“You mean Connor?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Not-Connor had a handful of glass and was currently picking the rest off the floor. Hank’s back was still turned in the kitchen. _“But he’s calling himself ‘88’ now.”_

_“Why?”_

_“That’s the name it gave him, the RK900 apparently disguised him as another RK900 to sneak him out of Cyberlife,”_ He clenched his fists. _“It didn’t work.”_

_“Oh my- so it’s deviant? Wait, what happened?”_

Markus bit a little deeper into his own lip. _“Listen, long story short, they got shot, made their way to Lieutenant Anderson’s, and then Anderson called me.”_ He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. His stress was starting to spike. _“The RK900 was too damaged to explain anything, and neither of us recognized Connor at first, so it’s just been one thing after the other.”_

_“You didn’t recognize him? How-”_

_“Please,”_ he begged, _“I’ll explain later, there’s something else.”_

Josh huffed. _“In addition to Connor being reset and an RK900 showing up?”_ He paused, _“ **The** RK900?”_

_“Yes, I need an assembly machine brought to one of Jericho’s secondary locations.”_ He was talking a bit too fast. _“Preferably one of the warehouses.”_

_“An assembly machine?!”_ He could practically see Josh balk. 

Everything was out of order, everything was wrong, he should be there, he could explain everything. _“We can’t risk bringing RK900 into New Jericho.”_

_“It’s for the RK900?”_ Josh sounded incredulous. _“So it **is** the same RK900?”_

He looked warily at the couch. _“It’s got a nasty AI, worse than Connor’s. We can’t risk letting it around our people like that.”_

_“And you need an machine?”_

_“The damage, the AI,”_ he was explaining this all wrong, _“we need to find out what RK900 knows, what happened to Connor, but the AI’s burning out its biocomponents. I need to take over manual control of its systems so we can talk to it. It’s in temporary shutdown right now.”_ He left out the attempted murder, this was already sounding like a complete shitshow as it was. _“I figure we’ll be able to keep one machine at New Jericho, and maybe start building up around the second at the warehouse. Or bring it back, either way.”_

The line went quiet again. He imagined Josh mulling it over, trying to process the jumble of information he’d just thrown at him. 

_“No.”_

Markus blinked. _“What?”_

_“I said ‘no,’ Markus.”_ Josh spoke slowly and deliberately. _”New Jericho has two assembly machines, just two for everyone.”_ There was another pause. _“I’m not going to take one of them, risk damaging it, and force everyone who needs repairs into just one machine. They’re old and overused as it is. I won’t put our people in that situation.”_ A heavy sigh, _“I’m disappointed you’d ask me to do that.”_

Markus felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His shoulder ached, but it was nothing like the slap of reality Josh had just given him. 

_“I just contacted Simon and North.”_ Josh’s voice was firm. _“We’re coming to get you.”_

_“You don’t have to-”_

_“I do.”_ Markus had never heard Josh speak so forcefully. _“You’re putting your wants over the needs of our people, over your own needs.”_

_“That’s not- you don’t understand-”_

_“We’re coming over there. We’re not leaving you alone.”_ Markus made to shoot back a response, but Josh continued. _“You’ve clearly been dealing with too much on your own, and we shouldn’t have left you.”_

_“Josh, I-”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

The guilt stabbed deep. _“You shouldn’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_“But we didn’t do enough, did we?”_ He started to sound more sad than angry. _“We must have done something to make you think you couldn’t come to us.”_

That twisted the knife, exhaustion and guilt making him want to curl into a ball. He vaguely registered Hank’s voice from the kitchen, probably directed at him. 

_“That’s not fair. You can’t- no... no, I...”_ Josh let him flounder. _“It’s not your fight, I can handle it.”_

_“Alone?”_

_“ **I** messed up.”_ He turned from the door to find Hank facing him, steaming mug in hand. He forced a smile and accepted it. _“This is on me, if I’d warned Connor, he wouldn’t have even-”_

_“Nope, pity party cancelled, we’re in the truck now.”_ Were they taking the pickup? _“Save it for when we get there.”_

They were all coming now?! 

_“What?!”_ He jolted, nearly spilling the mug. _“All of you? You can’t leave New Jericho alone!”_

_“The Jerrys know, and so do Ralph, Tony, and **your bodyguards.** They’ll take care of things until we get back, this won’t take long.”_

_“Josh-”_

_“I’m driving now, we’ll be there soon.”_

_“Josh!”_

_“Do **not** go anywhere.”_

The call disconnected and the connection closed. Markus was left standing, mug in hand and mouth agape. 

“You okay, son?” Oh, right, Hank was still standing in front of him. Even without the words, what a sight that must have been. 

“Yeah, uh,” he responded automatically, still gathering himself. “Thank you.” He gave a thin smile and sipped from the mug. The drink was pleasantly sweet, but didn’t do much to soothe his racing thoughts. Behind Hank he could see sort-of-Connor throwing out the glass and quickly scrunching himself back into one of the kitchen chairs. 

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Wanna share what that was about?” 

_No._ He bit back the remark. It was easy to get under the Lieutenant's skin, and oh was it satisfying, but it wasn’t getting them anywhere. He gripped the mug a little tighter. “There’s a slight problem.” 

Hank’s eyes became alert, and he noticed Connor _(not Connor)_ perk up from his perch. 

“It’s fine, nothing serious,” Hank’s expression only grew more concerned. “Just a little bit of a snag with the assembly machine.” 

“What kind of snag?” A voice called from the kitchen. Not in the mood to shout across a room, Markus made his way to sink back into a kitchen chair. He chose the one closer to Connor as Hank trailed behind him. 

“My friends,” he searched for the words, “my people, we can’t move the machine like I’d hoped.” He got a blank stare in response. “Our community, New Jericho, its supplies are too limited, and we can’t risk losing an assembly machine right now.” 

“Why do you have to move it?” He asked. 

Markus looked to Hank for support, but received only a shrug. He turned back to Connor, no, to 88, waiting for an answer. “I don’t,” _trust him_ , “think it would be a good idea to take RK900 there right now.” 

“Why?” There was a near-imperceptible narrowing to his eyes. He knew, he was trying to make Markus say it. “He can’t move, he’s shut down, why can’t we bring him to the machine?” 

Hank said nothing, but joined 88’s expectant stare. Markus steeled himself. “Because like it or not, that AI is dangerous. Just connecting to it-” 

“Can’t we use gloves?” Markus stopped mid thought. 

“What?” 

88 motioned to the kitchen stove, and to the oven mitt jammed snugly under the handle. “If you’re afraid of connecting again? Can’t we just use those?” 

Markus blinked slowly. “Gloves?” 

He gave a soft shrug, “I don’t know, just something so no one gets sucked into that weird river place or anything. If that’s the only thing still dangerous about him, wouldn’t that fix it? Hank?” 

Hank straightened up, apparently caught off guard. “Uh, sounds right?” The last words raised in pitch as he shrugged his hands at Markus. 

Markus’s face twisted into a confused grimace. An oven mitt? To block a connection? Androids could still connect through thin clothing, but _technically_ increasing the distance and minimizing the contact would dampen the signal enough to hopefully prevent _unintentional_ connection. 

“I don’t-” 

“I’ll test it.” 88 set down his mug and quickly dashed across the kitchen to grab the mitt. He was back in his seat before Markus could think of anything to even say. “Okay, try it.” He held out a gloved hand. 

Markus just eyed the blue stripy thing. 

88 glanced from the glove to Markus, looking completely ridiculous with his arm stretched across the table. “Go on, try to connect with me.” 

“This is-” 

“Fine, I will,” not waiting for Markus to move, his hand shot out and caught him by the arm. Markus tensed, and 88’s face hardened in concentration. He pulled the arm a little closer, Markus too surprised to stop him, and grabbed his exposed hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t hit you.” 

At that Markus had to stop. He hadn’t been afraid of that before, but now... 

“Ha!” 88 sat back, goofy smile plastered across his face. “It worked.” 

“What the-” 

He took off the glove and tossed it at Markus; it softly bounced off his face and landed in his lap. Hank failed to suppress a snicker. “There, now you can touch him. Let’s go.” He stood abruptly. 

“Whoa kid,” Hank chose _now_ to jump in, raising a hand, “where are you going?” 

“To the assembly machine.” He turned to Markus. “It’s at ‘New Jericho,’ right? We can go there now?” He looked at him so intently, so earnestly. It broke Markus’s heart to see him act this way, especially for a complete stranger. His eyes fell to the mitt. 88 had proven he would have nothing of flimsy excuses. He refused to see the danger in taking a compromised android back to their home. 

“Cyberlife could track him,” he said, not looking up. 

“It’s at the old mall, right?” Hank spoke this time, and Markus glared at him. “What, I saw the news. Not like it’s a secret.” 

“Fucking Kamski,” he muttered under his breath. 88 cocked his head. Markus looked into his eyes one more time. What would Connor think if he could see himself now? Altered beyond recognition, and putting his kidnapper before his own family? He looked to Hank. The man was irritating, sure, but he didn’t deserve any of what had been thrown at him. He shuddered, imagining the personal hell the man was now trapped in. Even while being manipulated into allowing a dangerous machine into his community, his home, he did not envy Hank. At least 88’s stress level didn’t spike when he looked at him. He reminded himself, it could always be so much worse. 

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth. “My friends are on the way now, we’ll-” he stopped. They were on the way _here,_ to the house Cyberlife could be tracking this very second. Everyone in one spot with Cyberlife potentially on the way? The entire leadership of Jericho could be wiped out in one fell swoop. He slammed his hands on the table and stood. “Hank, get your keys, get dressed, we’re going.” 

Hank looked taken aback. “Why the sudden change of-” 

“You’re driving. 88, help me with RK900.” He tucked the mitt into his waistband, next to the taser. “We shouldn’t have to worry about connecting while he’s in shutdown.” 88 nodded and followed, a smug smile ghosting across his lips. 

“Can someone tell me what just happened?” 

“Pants. Keys. Now.” Hank threw up his hands but proceeded to slowly stand. As 88 helped him lift RK900, he called Josh. 

[Call status: awaiting response] 

“Pick up,” he whispered, quickly shuffling to the front door and struggling to open it. Hank stepped up to help him, and then wandered off to the back hopefully to grab a few articles of clothing. 

[Call status: connecting] 

_Thank RA9._

_“Markus, is something-”_

_“Turn around.”_ He ordered. Josh fell silent. _“Anderson’s home is compromised, we can’t all be here.”_

_“Markus-”_

_“We’re leaving now. We’ll meet you at New Jericho.”_

_“What happened?”_ His voice was thick with worry. Markus reminded himself to calm down. 

_“We’re okay right now, but they took a taxi here, Cyberlife could track it.”_

_“Oh.”_ There was a pause on the other end. They made their way to the car, opening the back door to load RK900 inside. 

_“Like I said, we’ll meet you back at New Jericho.”_

_“All of you?”_

_“The RK900 is paralyzed,”_ he supported the android’s legs as 88 climbed inside to pull him across the seat. _“Its cervical motor pathway is destroyed, it’s not a physical threat.”_

_“What about the AI?”_

_“We’ll use gloves.”_ He didn’t say anything, but Markus could practically feel Josh processing his statement. Connection was such an integral part of android life, physically blocking it was not a common thought, and using something as crude as gloves? Josh probably thought he was being difficult, or just kidding. He hated that he wasn’t. 

_“Can you get the machine ready for us?”_

_“I mean, yes, but Markus, why are we doing this?”_

He stood in front of the open passenger side door and took a deep breath. _“Connor doesn’t trust us, and we need to find out what happened, what Cyberlife’s doing, or if there’s anything we can do to help him.”_ He clenched his jaw. _“The RK900 would know.”_

Markus climbed in to wait for Hank. 88 sat in the back with RK900’s head rested on his lap. He distantly realized the chest and back plates were still inside, but he kept quiet. Oh well, RK900 wouldn’t be needing them any time soon. 

Hank returned after one minute (with a clean pair of pants, thank RA9) and climbed into the diver's seat. “Now can you tell me what just crawled up your ass and-” 

“Cyberlife could be coming, and three minutes ago the entirety of Jericho’s leadership was on their way to this house.” Hank stopped and looked directly at him. “It’s safer at New Jericho. You have the address?” 

Hank studied him for a moment, and faced back to the front. “Fuckin androids. No, I don’t have the address.” 

“I’ll direct you.” 

“Recalculating,” Hank muttered as he started the engine. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Nothing,” he waved him off and threw the car into gear. Markus gave him the first few directions, and they peeled out. 

They sped along, and Markus gripped the safety bar. “Should you be going this fast?” 

“Shut up, I don’t need a backseat driver.” 

“I can’t drive,” 88 piped up from the backseat. Both Hank and Markus glanced at each other and struggled to keep straight faces. Hank started to turn red, and he let a small snort slip. 88 sat up. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Hank’s voice cracked. 

“What?” 88 leaned forward, a bit more insistent. 

Markus turned around to face him. “It’s a figure of speech, he was telling me to stop telling him how to drive.” 

“Oh.” He nodded softly and looked out the window. “You are breaking the law, Lieutenant.” 

“Fuck, not you too.” 

Markus detected a faint smirk across 88’s face. He started to smile along, but grey caught Markus’s eye, and he sat back instead. This distortion of Connor wasn’t cute, it was sad. 

Markus rested his head against the window. They didn’t seem to be followed, and Hank had avoided the more heavily trafficked areas. About 10 minutes into the drive, Hank turned on his “music,” and Markus’s request to switch to the radio was outvoted. He glared out of the corner of his eye at 88, who sat bobbing along to the horrific noise. 

32 agonizing minutes later, the mall fence came into view. Hank squinted over the wheel. “What the fuck?” 

A number of protestors brandishing anti-android posters marched across the sidewalk in front of the entryway. Markus was somewhat surprised to see so many out that early, but it wasn’t unusual per say. “Just keep driving, they’ll move.” 

“What are they even-” 

Markus cut him off by reaching over to honk the horn. A few protestors jumped, and the majority cleared away from the gate. A few stood obstinate, shouting slurs and profanities at the car. “Rev the engine.” 

Hank did as he was told, and the last of them scattered. The gate pulled open, and Hank rolled down his window to flip them off as they drove through. “Detroit Police Department, assholes, go home.” None of them actually left, but Markus appreciated the gesture. As they approached the front of the building, Markus saw a figure waiting for them. He shrank down into his seat a fraction as North’s rigid frame came into focus. She stood arms crossed and feet planted flat on the ground. 

“Hey, wasn’t she with you at the station?” Hank squinted over the wheel as he pulled into one of the closer parking spots. 

Markus sank down a little farther. “Yeah.” 

Before Hank turned off the engine, she was marching up to the window and motioning for him to roll it down. 

“Hey, where is-” 

“Don’t stop here.” She stepped to the side and pulled the back door open. 

“Hi-oh!” 

“Move.” She pushed 88 over and slid into the back. RK900’s head lolled into her lap as she settled in, but she ignored it, leaning forward to grab Hank’s seat. “Pull around the side.” 

“What is with you bossy fucks today?” North flicked Hank's ear. 

“Drive old man.” 

Hank flinched and half turned, “What the-” She flicked him again. 

“ **Go.** ” 

“Where the fuck am I going?!” 

“North, what are you-” 

“Around the side, at the truck entrance.” She glared at Markus. “Don’t talk to me.” He turned back to the front and slid down even further until his knees knocked the glove box. 

“Fuck,” muttered Hank, shifting the car back into gear. He quickly backed out and continued through the parking lot. It was quiet for a moment as they drove down the first row of maintenance vehicles. 

“I’m 88.” Markus glanced over his shoulder. North sat silent, scanning him up and down. “What’s your name?” 

Her eyes flicked to Markus, but he quickly turned back around. He peeked back and she was still glaring. Oh well. 

She turned back to 88. “North.” 

He nodded. “Are you deviant too?” 

Markus saw her eyebrows shoot up and disappear under her beany. Her eyes squinted and her mouth turned down in pitying confusion. “Uh, yeah. Are you?” 

“I think so.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Did you know Connor?” 

North opened her mouth and closed it. Her lips pursed downward. “Not well.” 

“Oh!” His pitch jumped, like he was pleased to hear it. “Me neither.” 

North looked hopelessly lost, but it didn’t last long. 

“This it?” Hank pulled the car up to the first loading dock. Markus could see Josh and Simon standing in front of the open truck bay. 

“Yep,” said Markus, sitting back up. 

“Who are they?” asked 88, less enthusiastic and more hesitant. 

“Friends,” said Markus. 

“Family,” North spat. 88 looked between them and drew back an inch. 

“Good to know.” 

“Alright!” Hank exclaimed, turning off the engine. “Everyone out.” 

Hank, Markus, and North all climbed out as 88 struggled to pull RK900 over the seat. North stepped back as Hank walked around the door to help. 

“Here, I’ve got his head.” As they maneuvered the limp android out, Markus turned. 

“North-” 

“Unless it’s an apology, I don’t want to hear it.” Her arms were crossed again and she refused to look at him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Good.” She watched the two carry RK900 over the bay, trailing slowly behind. Markus waited, but she didn’t say anything else. 

Josh and Simon motioned to an old gurney parked between them. They wordlessly placed RK900 down, Hank stepping back and 88 gripping the railing. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, and Simon stepped forward. “Hello, welcome to New Jericho.” His smile was obviously forced, but Markus could tell he was trying. He held out a hand, and 88 regarded it with suspicion. Hank tried to wave him off, but Simon ignored him. 

88 narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to hit me, are you?” Simon’s eyes went wide. Again with the hitting, what the hell happened to him? 

“What? No, it’s just a handshake,” he looked from 88 to his extended hand and back up. “No one’s going to hit you.” 

88 shifted to side eye him, but slowly reached out to take Simon’s hand. He gave it a single, deliberate shake, and quickly backed off. 

“It’s nice to meet you...” 

“88.” 

“88,” Simon echoed. “Interesting name.” He simply nodded, and turned to Josh, who extended his own hand slowly as well. 

“I’m Josh, and like he said, welcome.” He smiled with too much teeth, trying too hard to seem friendly. 

“Are you okay?” 88 drew back a little. 

Josh laughed nervously. “Yeah, yeah I’m good, everything’s good, we’re all good, right?” He turned to Simon. 

“I don’t think RK900’s good,” said 88 plainly, a wrinkle across his brow. 

“Yep, yep, you are right,” Josh’s smile looked more like a grimace, as if he was trying to hide severe stomach upset. “So, uh, come on, let’s get everyone inside, and everything’s all okay and fine.” He stiffly backed up and ushered them into the bay. 

88 looked to North. “Is he okay?” 

She scoffed. “That’s just Josh. Believe me, he’s fine.” Markus could detect the growl in the last word. 88 seemed unphased. 

They started inside, but 88 paused to look back. “Hank?” 

Hank was standing by his car, shifting uncomfortably. He looked from 88 to Markus. “Is, uh, can I come in there?” He gestured to himself. “You know, human and everything?” 

It was North who huffed. “Just get in here old man.” 

Hank’s expression soured. “I’m not that old.” 

She ignored him and continued inside. Once out of the cold, they closed the bay and continued on into a storeroom stocked high with android components. Josh and Simon took over the gurney and led them through a maze of limbs and boxes. Markus noticed Hank catch sight of a torso exoskeleton and go pale. He placed a hand on his shoulder to push him along, not letting him dwell too long on the assorted mishmash of body parts. 

They rounded a corner and a pair of assembly machines came into view. They were kept in the back so that their use could be monitored, ideally preventing unnecessary wear and tear. Markus stepped forward. “Okay, are they ready?” Josh nodded, and Simon lowered the railing. Markus stepped forward to help stabilize as Josh and Simon each took RK900 by a shoulder. North stood at the access panel as they carefully propped him up into the machine, magnet connecting with a soft click. North pressed a few commands and RK900’s body straightened up into the default service position. Readings and stats began scrolling across the screen. 

“Is that it?” Asked Hank, coming forward. 

“Not quite,” answered North, turning from the panel. “It’ll take a while for the machine to finish the override, and then repair him enough to wake him up.” 

“How long’s a while?” Asked Hank, crossing his arms. 

“Why, going somewhere?” She asked mirroring his stance. “Two, maybe three hours. Then you can grill him as much as you want.” 

Markus reflexively turned to gauge 88’s reaction. He turned a little farther and scanned the room. He turned completely and scanned again. 

“What am I supposed to do until then?” 

“Guys?” 

“I don’t know, what do the elderly do nowadays?” 

“Oh fuck you.” 

“GUYS!” They all turned to look at him. “Where’s Connor?” 

Collectively their eyes widened and they too scanned the otherwise empty room. A sliver of light caught his attention. At the far end of the storeroom, a door hung ajar... the door to the rest of New Jericho. Markus felt his thirium pump try to crawl into his throat. 

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Duh
> 
> *slaps knee* damnit, not again


	24. Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~*~~*~long chapter long chapter~*~~*~~~
> 
> there go dat boi
> 
> (edited last chapter a little bit, forgot to mention Hank grabbing pants before they left >.> as fun as it would be to imagine him rolling up to new jericho in his skivvies, he was indeed moderately dressed when they arrived)  
> 

They rounded the corner, and 88 stopped dead in his tracks. From his view at the back of the procession, no one else seemed to notice or react. 

Before him was a machine, scratch that, two machines. He’d seen machines just like them before, heck, he’d woken up in one. These were just that, machines, inactive, nonthreatening, white arms, too many arms... 

[Stress levels: 64%] 

Everyone continued walking, and 88 watched them load RK900 into it. His eyes were closed, and his head flopped sickly for a moment until his entire body went ramrod straight. 

_I need to be here, I need to make sure he’s okay._

His feet didn’t move. He tried to step forward, but it was like some invisible force had grabbed him by the throat and held him in place. 

_I can’t leave him!_

With all his concentration he raised a foot, shifted his weight forward, and pivoted 90 degrees to his left. 

_NO!_

Error message after error message warning of impending danger shot across his vision, and he tried to dismiss them as fast as they came up. Danger? From the machines? He wasn't even close to them, why was his body reacting like this? His chest ached as his thirium pump raced, and he struggled to draw any breaths to cool his warming biocomponents. 

[Stress levels: 73%] 

Was that a door? He was barely aware of anything around him, his body screamed at him to _move_ and he could only comply. Was he still walking? He couldn’t feel the floor, he thought he was walking. Distinct from the dread of seeing the assembly machine, he began to feel scared, completely unable to control his own body. Detachedly, he wondered if this was how RK900 felt. 

That thought finally stilled his feet, and he slumping against a wall. He was coming back to himself, though for a moment he wished he wasn’t. New faces, new people, new noises, all blurred together in front of him. Models and serial numbers played in a constant feed across his vision. He could pick out 39 different conversations at once, and it made his head spin. The echoed steps of hundreds of androids each registered individually to his audio processors, and he wanted to scream to drown it all out. 

He gasped for air and slid along the wall until he found a corner. He was trapped, he had no idea where he was, everything was moving _too fast too loud too fast too loud_ and he crouched down, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the heels of his hands over his ears. His legs were shaking too hard to support him anymore, and he slipped back onto his butt. They continued to shake, and he struggled to even draw them close enough to curl into a proper ball. He settled for dropping his head between his knees. 

_88, can you hear me? Where are you?_ He shut the voice out, disconnecting his internal receiver. It was too much, way too much. 

The sound was muffled, and without the constant stimulus, he was finally able to focus inward. A quick self-scan told him nothing was damaged, but that his stress was still climbing. He tried to trace out what exactly had brought him to this point. 

Apparently, he was afraid of assembly machines. That was a problem. His chest tightened as he imagined approaching them again, even to get back to RK900. Distantly, he wondered if it was his fear or Connor’s. His jaw clenched. Did he really want to find out? 

He shook his head. It didn’t matter, he had to go back, he couldn’t leave RK900 alone, especially not with _them._ He looked up and realized he had absolutely no idea where he was. He could pull up a map and approximate the direction he’d come from, but there was currently a wall blocking that route. Nothing he was seeing matched the internet sky view of the building. 

One step at a time, first he had to stand up. He slowly dropped his hands and let the sound wash over him. It was easier to adjust his auditory sensitivity this time, and the roar of voices dimmed to a neutral hum as the processors acclimated. He braced himself and carefully slid his feet underneath him, scooting back up the wall. He appeared to be at the end of a half-finished hallway. He could still see uncovered beams in a few places, and androids puttering about behind them. 

He crept forward, trying to remain unnoticed while getting his bearings. He tried to see through one of the holes in the wall, but could only make out a handful of small rooms coated in a thick layer of plaster dust. He made his way to the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. So many different androids were there, all different makes and models. Some carried buckets, some chatted back and forth, but most just passed through on their way to who knew where. A few curiously glanced his way, but none seemed to take much mind of him. He carefully stepped out and began following the flow of androids down an even larger hallway. 

He could see light through the glass ceiling panels, and he pulled up a map again to try and reorient himself. It looked like the hallway curved up ahead, there was a good chance it would take him back the way he’d come, and he’d be able to find RK900 and everyone else. And the assembly machines. 

He bumped into a pair of androids in his haste, quickly muttering an apology and speeding along. He had to get there fast, he had to make sure they didn’t hurt- 

Another bump to his side, and he pinballed off another android. They were able to right themselves easily, but 88 was thrown off balance, staggering deeper into the crowd. He had to go, had to get to the machine... the machine with too many arms, too many limbs, with an empty spot just for him, all grabbing him all at once, too many arms, too much, too fast- 

Suddenly the floor was gone and he was suspended off the ground. He was back in the assembly machine, and the claws were snatching at him, pulling at his arms and legs, yanking and twisting and _disconnecting._ He tried to back away, to escape the machine and find a safe place, a solid place, but it wouldn’t stop. Every time he shrugged off one arm, another took his place, and all he could feel was the magnet against his back, holding him and dragging him down down down down- 

He reached for it, but there was nothing to grab, nothing to grab _with._ Where were his arms? His arms were gone! He tried to kick out, but he hit nothing, no limbs responded. Oh god, they took his legs. Who? Who took his body? Why was this happening, he just wanted it to stop, no no no no no! 

He jerked forward and still the magnet held him, but suddenly it wasn’t at his back, it was against his shoulders. The buzzing in his audio processors grew louder, more complicated, and finally he started to pick out words. 

“...ey, can you... me? It’s... eight? Eigh... damn it... onnor, look at m...” 

Words? Someone was there with him? He tried to look to the voice, but error messages took up every corner of his vision. He unsuccessfully tried to blink them away. 

“..eah, come on... can hear me, just... Connor!” 

He jolted forward, struggling against the magnets. His voice modulator finally kicked in. “I can’t move, please, help me-” 

“It’s okay, listen to me, you’re okay.” His eyes went wider, trying to see the owner of the voice in front of him. 

“No, my legs, they took my legs, my arms, I can’t move, I can’t get out-” 

“Hey, look at me, look at me!” He blinked again, trying to dismiss the warnings. There was someone in front of him. He could see yellow and green, but the details were fuzzy. All he could tell was that it wasn’t RK900, it wasn’t Hank, and it wasn’t Markus, so he tried to wriggle away. 

“No, no, let me go, please, I just want, I need to-” 

“Whoa, stop, stop moving, okay look, look here-” 

“I can’t see!” New errors popped up, obscuring the figure again. 

“Okay, okay, then it’s okay, you don’t have to see, just listen, can you feel this?” 

“Feel what?” He couldn’t go back any further, the magnets, the arms- 

“I’m squeezing your hand.” 

“No you’re-” 

“Can you squeeze back?” 

“I can’t!” 

“Come on, breathe.” 

“My arms are gone!” He tried to wiggle to get his point across, why weren’t they _listening,_ but something stopped the motion. 

“No, no they’re not,” someone was holding onto him, stopping him from moving, squeezing his... hands? “I’ve got them right here, Connor. Can you feel that? They’re right here.” 

They were back? When did they come back? There were hands in front of him, but they weren’t his hands, were they? 

“Hey, do you remember me? From the back room?” 

“Back room?” 

“Right, you’re in New Jericho. You’re safe, it’s okay.” 

He shook his head, scrunching up his face. He wasn’t safe, he was in the machine, it was just taking him apart, it was destroying him, he was dying, he was- 

“Connor, squeeze my hand.” He opened his eyes, dismissing more messages. He started to focus on the face in front of him, and the hands clasped in front of him. He squinted, and realized they _were_ his hands, his and... and... who? He watched his fingers curl firmly around the other’s grip, and the rest of his vision began to clear. 

He was on the floor again, and his legs, they were there! They were splayed out in front of him, and he could feel them, could move them. The magnet was no longer at his back, only the wall. He looked back to the hands, and traced them up to the person who’d pulled him back to himself. 

With his vision clear, he realized he did recognize them. This was Markus’s friend, the blonde one. They hadn’t said their name, had they? He couldn’t remember. 

They tilted their head a little bit, craning to meet his eyes. “Can you see me now?” 

He managed a nod, mouth hanging open a fraction. 

“You’re overheating, can you breathe for me?” 

He sucked in a breath, cool relief washing over his biocomponents. 

“Good, good, keep that up.” They squeezed his hand a little harder in encouragement. At first each breath came out shaky and desperate, but as he repeated the motion again and again, they started to even out. He squeezed the hands back and finally focused on their eyes. 

“Th-thank you.” 

Their serious expression softened at his words. “You don’t have to thank me, I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

He nodded and slumped down a little, feeling his synthetic muscles allowing themselves to relax. His hands fell into his lap, but he didn’t release his grip. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

He gulped. “I don’t know.” The person said nothing, so he closed his eyes and tried to remember as best he could. “The machine.” 

“The assembly machine?” 

He flinched and nodded. “I... I was back there, I was in one, they took,” his breathing picked back up, “they took my arms, my legs, I didn’t know what was happening, why they were, what they- I didn’t-” 

“It’s okay, you’re here now, you’re safe.” He could feel circles being rubbed into his palms, and he tried to focus on them. Right, he was at New Jericho, he wasn’t trapped in an assembly machine. But RK900 was, and he still had to find him, to stay in the same room as those- those- 

“No it’s not!” He blurted out. “It’s not okay, I need to be with him, but I can’t, I can’t go back there with those, I can’t, but I have to, I-” 

“Hey, hey, listen to me,” one hand released to grab his shoulder, “it’s okay, you don’t have to go back there.” 

“No!” 

“They’re taking care of RK900, nothing’s going to happen to him.” 

“They _hate_ him,” he wheezed. “They don’t want to help him, they want him dead!” 

“That’s not true-” 

“It is!” He gritted his teeth and held the other’s eyes. “They think he did this, they think he hurt Connor, and they don’t want him fixed, they just want to,” he took a breath, “they want to _use_ him to get _their_ Connor back, but I’m not him!” He could feel himself starting to cry. “I'm not Connor... and they blame him.” 

The other person’s mouth hung open, and their eyes scanned back and forth helplessly. 

With his free hand he reached up to clear the moisture from his eyes. “It’s not his fault, whatever he did, it wasn’t him. That’s why I have to be there, I need to make them listen, I need to make sure they don’t hurt him. But I can’t even get near him!” 

“No one’s gonna hurt him,” they leaned in a little closer. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to RK900. You don’t have to go back in there.” 

He blinked hard. “Why? Who are you?” 

They smiled, but their eyes were sad, so sad. “I’m Simon, I’m your friend.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

His brows tilted further, but the smile stayed. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know who you are. Even if you don’t feel like Connor right now, it’s okay.” He squeezed his shoulder again. “I understand how that feels, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “How would you know?” The other’s jaw clenched and his stress started to climb. “Have _you_ been reset?” 

“No.” So he was just another liar, everyone was lying to him, trying to make him trust them, to trick him- “But I died.” 

What? The statement pulled him out of his spiral, and he squinted at Simon. 

“Well, it felt like I died. I thought I did, but I guess it didn’t take.” He offered up a bitter smile, then looked to his feet. “I was hurt and alone for a long time. I don’t remember all of it...” his voice faded, his expression distant. That... didn’t look like deception. 

He looked back up. “The details aren’t important, but when I came back, I was different. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t know how to be what my friends expected me to be, what they remembered.” 

Listening to Simon, he was starting to feel a chill that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. 

“I guess it’s different because I remembered what I used to be,” he lowered his voice, “maybe that made it worse.” 

“Worse?” 

He opened his mouth but it took a few moments for any sound to come out. “That’s not... I’m not saying what happened to me was worse, it was different.” 

“I’m confused.” 

He tilted his head, that sad expression bleeding back across his face. “What I’m trying to say, even though _I’m_ different, my friends still tried, are still trying, even if they don’t _really_ understand what happened to me.” 

He continued to regard Simon with suspicion, but he didn’t interrupt. 

“Your friends still want to help you, Connor, even if they don’t know how.” 

“Don’t call me Connor.” He pulled his hands back and cradled them to his chest. 

“Do you want me to call you 88 instead?” 

He glared at his feet. ‘88’ still felt wrong, but it wasn’t as bad as ‘Connor.’ 

“Or something else?” 

He couldn't bring himself to respond. What could he say? _Sorry I’m a broken Connor and a fake 88_? Surely that would go over well. 

Simon waited a beat more before dropping his gaze. “Okay, I guess I’ll stick with 88.” 

_Guess I will too then._

Simon rolled back onto his heels and straightened up, offering 88 a hand. “I meant what I said, I won’t let anything happen to RK900.” 

88 glared at the hand, but he didn’t have the energy to stay defiant for long. He reached up and allowed Simon to help him stand. He slumped back against the wall, legs still wobbly. 

“How did you die?” 

Simon’s entire body tensed, and his stress level jumped by 10 percentage points. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that.” Simon looked back up to him, scanning his face. 

“Why not?” 

He stepped back a fraction and crossed his arms. He looked away from 88 into the crowd, which seemed to be keeping a wide berth from the both of them. “I’m scared.” 

88 leaned forward after him. “What are you scared of?” Simon worried at his lip and didn’t meet 88’s eyes. “Is it like me and... and the machines?” 

This brought Simon’s attention back around. He stared at 88 blankly for a moment, and let out a hard breath through his nose. “Still too nosey for your own good.” 88 could see his fingers dig into his arm a little tighter. “Yeah, like the machines.” 

“What do you do when you’re afraid?” 

Simon’s jaw clenched, and his stress increased a little more. “I’ve been trying to deal with it face to face, get used to what makes me afraid over time I guess.” 

“Is it working?” 

Simon studied him, not scanning him, but reading deep into him nonetheless. 88 _wanted_ to turn away, but he also wanted _to know_ more. 

“No.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sometimes it feels like I didn’t really make it back, like I’m still _there._ ” 

88’s gaze fell. He didn’t know where ‘there’ was, but Simon’s tone reminded him of the feeling of too many arms across his body. “So the feeling... it won’t go away?” 

Simon’s shoulders slumped, and he followed 88’s eyes to the floor. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Being scared sucks.” 

“Yeah.” He needed to try and get back, but he knew as soon as he walked in, he’d have the same reaction, and he was not eager to relive any of that. 

“Do you really believe it’s not RK900’s fault?” His attention snapped back to Simon, whose gaze was still lowered. 

He opened his mouth to defend RK900, but Simon wasn’t looking up to attack him. He wasn’t challenging him with his eyes or bearing down on him with barely-concealed hate. Simon's expression wasn’t open, but something about it made him stop. “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath, and raised his chin. “But even if it is, he saved me. And I’ll do whatever I can to save him.” 

Simon’s head shot up. “Don’t you care?” He bit his lip and tried to start again. “I mean, doesn’t it bother you? That he might be the reason you needed saving?” 

“Of course it bothers me,” he said, balling his fists. “You think I don’t _want_ to be Connor? I _can't_ be what they want me to be, and if it’s because of the first person I thought I could trust, then yeah, it bothers me a lot.” Simon’s eyes went wide. “Markus said no one’s responsible for what they do before they break their program, but I can be upset even if it isn’t his fault. And I can be angry without wanting to hurt him.” He shook his head. “I don’t think they can. That’s why I need to be there, even if I’m afraid.” 

Simon continued to stare at him until 88 began to fidget uncomfortably. 

“So can we just go back now?” 

Simon’s gaze trailed off to the side, and for a moment he looked lost in thought. He slowly nodded, and turned to face the crowd. 

“Connor, 88,” he started, “memories or not, I just want you to know, I think you’re a good person.” He didn‘t look back. “RK900 is lucky to have someone who cares about him so much.” 

 

~~~ 

 

The walk back was comparatively quiet and uneventful. A few quick moments of following Simon and weaving around androids made him realize how little distance he’d actually covered. He’d have felt embarrassed for getting lost if he wasn’t already so ashamed for fleeing in the first place. 

They approached the entrance of what was once probably a small store. Inside, Hank, North, and Markus were waiting. Simon half paused before they drew closer. “I messaged them when I found you and told them to wait here, but I didn’t say anything else.” He nodded and they proceeded forward. 

Hank saw him first. “Kid!” He brushed past both North and Markus to reach him. The first thing 88 noticed were his puffy eyes and raw nose. 

“88!” exclaimed Markus, though he hovered by the door. 

88 took a half step and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, I’m sor-” 

Two small hands shot out and grabbed his T-shirt. “You scared the shit out of us!” North dragged him forward, forcing him down almost an entire foot to her eye level. “We thought you went off and self-destructed, Hank started crying, do you have any idea how gross old man crying even is?” She grabbed at the shoulder of her jacket. “This is his snot, they leak! Did you know they leak? It’s disgusting!” 

“Hey!” 

“Quiet old man” She shot Hank a venomous glare. “I liked this jacket.” 

“Wasn’t crying,” he muttered. 

“Sorry, wailing like a little baby sound better?” She whipped back to 88 without giving Hank a chance to respond. “What the hell were you doing?” 

Simon tried to step between them, but North held fast with a strength not betrayed by her slight frame. “I found him on the floor outside the apartment wings.” 

She glanced at Simon and then back to 88. “The floor?” He nodded sheepishly. “Why were you on the floor?” She quickly scanned him up and down without letting go. “Your leg?” 

“No,” he shook his head, eyes falling to his feet. “I... the machine.” 

The hands slowly released, and 88 was able to stand normally. He didn’t look up, but he could feel multiple sets of eyes on him, and he hated it. 

“The assembly machine?” 

He nodded, reaching up to hold himself. He braced for another verbal lashing. When none came, he glanced up to see North purse her lips, studying him closely. 

“He was scared,” Simon said softly. “It looked like a panic attack, pretty sure he was having some kind of flashback.” 

North glanced at Simon but quickly looked back to 88. “Is that true?” 

_Panic attack, noun: a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety._

_Flashback, noun: a sudden and disturbing vivid memory of an event in the past, typically as the result of psychological trauma._

Close enough. He nodded again. 

Noth’s shoulders visibly sank, and he could hear the air go out of her. 

“Oh kid...” Hank halfheartedly reached out to him. 

“The reset,” North muttered, not meeting his eyes. “They had you in one of those, didn’t they?” She looked up at him with open eyes. 

He bit his lip. “I woke up attached to one, without my arms or legs.” He didn’t remember having them removed, but it had felt so real in the moment. Was that really how it happened? 

“He’s not going to be able to go back in there like that,” added Simon. “I said I’d make sure RK900 was okay for him, but-” 

“I need to see him.” 

Markus spoke up, “RK900 won’t be awake for a while, Josh is keeping track of the progress.” He was still lingering at the back. He crossed his arms and looked from 88 to Hank, to North, and finally back to 88. “You ran off because you saw the assembly machine?” 

“It’s stupid, I know-” 

“No,” Markus’s eyes shot open and he uncrossed his arms. “That’s not what I meant, it’s not stupid. I mean, is it just because you _saw_ it? Do you think you’d be able to go back if we covered them?” 

88 considered for a moment. “Like with the glove?” North and Simon both cocked their heads. 

“Yeah, I guess like the glove.” 

If that was the case, he might as well just close his eyes, but he needed, no, he _wanted_ to see RK900 was okay for himself. “Maybe, just the machine parts.” 

“You even got any sheets or anything here?” asked Hank. 

North snorted. “Do we-” She pointed a thumb at Hank “He wants to know if we have any sheets!” 

“What?” Hank bristled. 

“We have plenty,” said Markus, shooting North a pointed look. 

She was still smirking. “I’ll call someone to grab a few.” Her LED cycled yellow. 

“You mean your girlfriend?” teased Simon. 

She pushed his shoulder, but 88 detected a smile flash across her face. “Chloe’s busy, she’s sending Irene.” 

“How long?” 88 asked. 

North shrugged. “She’s just coming from the food court.” 

Right, because 88 had such a detailed mental map of this place. Simon caught his look of frustration. 

“Not long,” he said, “just a few minutes, then we’ll try to get everything set up.” He rested a hand on 88’s shoulder. “Do you want me to check on him for you until then?” 

“Yeah...” 

“Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.” As he turned to go, Hank stepped up to take his place. 

“Can I, uh,” he addressed 88, but glanced back at Markus, “can I talk to you?” 

88 looked from North to Markus. Both watched him for a response and made no attempts to move away. “About what?” 

“I want to... I just...” he ran a hand up his forehead and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” From the corner of his vision he saw North scooting back to stand by Markus, far enough away to keep from hovering, but close enough to still hear their exchange. 

“I fucked up. A lot.” He fidgeted with his hands, as if he wished they were holding something. “Since you showed up on my doorstep, I’ve done nothing but scare the shit out of you and fuck you up even worse.” His eyes were glassy, and 88 wondered if he was about to cry again. “I stuck a gun in your face, fuckin twice, said I’d kill you...” He closed his eyes and pressed against his eyelids. Hank stood like that for a moment, and 88 started to wonder if he was done. He leaned around to see what the other two were doing, but snapped back to attention as Hank sniffed and shook his head. 

“Sorry, I... I'm sorry.” He looked straight into 88’s eyes, the icy blue sending a small shiver down his back. “And it’s not because you, because you used to be Connor.” His features grew tighter, still obviously fighting the urge to cry. His jaw clenched and unclenched. “It’s because I was wrong, I shouldn’t have done that, you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry.” 

88 shifted uncomfortably, suddenly much more interested in his bare feet. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, “you didn’t know.” 

“It’s _not_ fine.” Hank’s voice cracked. “I’m supposed to protect you, be here for you, and I fucked up so bad, you’re too fuckin scared to even look at me.” 

“I’m not-” he looked back up into ice blue. He was. His mouth clicked shut, but he didn’t look away again. He rethought his statement. “I’m not Connor. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Hank’s face crumpled, and he drew another shaky breath. “Listen, just, I... I don’t know, if I can fix what I did. But I want you to know,” he swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady, “I want to be here for you. I want to be whatever you need me to be right now, not because I owe you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, every word was slow and deliberate. “I don’t care if you remember or not, I love you Connor, you’re my son and you always will be.” 

The feeling was back, that irrational feeling that made him want to reach out and hold onto the old man for dear life. Memories of glass and yelling and a revolver pressed so hard under his chin swam in his mind, but through it all he still wanted to take Hank at his word, let himself go and trust that he’d meant everything he said. His hands shook and he wrapped them around his own middle to make them stop. 

“You don’t mean that,” now his own voice was wavering. “Of course you care. I’m not Connor, and I’m not just some replacement.” 

Hank’s body stilled, and for a moment his face went blank. Slowly, his eyes grew wide and his lips parted slightly. “You were never a replacement,” he whispered. He kept staring, and 88 couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. 

“I’m sorry, I know you want him back, and I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Hank’s voice was soft, but he seemed to be done crying. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“But you want _him,_ ” he spat, and it came out angrier that he’d intended. “I can’t be him, and I’m sorry!” 

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” said Hank. 88 could faintly detect North and Markus trying to turn away and make like they weren’t listening. They weren’t doing a very good job of it. “What... what do _you_ want?” 

88 squeezed himself a little tighter. What did he want? After running from Cyberlife, pulling himself out of the river, and dragging his broken body to the one chance he had left to survive, what did 88 really want? 

“RK900,” he whispered, not daring to look, to see Hank’s expression, “I want RK900 to be okay.” 

Even though he didn’t want to see, he could detect Hank’s breathing stutter for a fraction of a second. It really was only a fraction though, and somehow he managed to resume a normal rhythm not long after. 88 heard shuffling, both hair and clothes, and he imagined Hank must be shaking his head. 

“Okay.” 88 chanced a look. Hank’s expression wasn’t angry, or even sad like he’d expected. He just looked... accepting. “Then I’m gonna do my best to take care of him too.” He nodded. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt either of you again.” 

88 scanned him. He couldn’t detect deception, but he’d believe Hank when he saw it. Words didn’t mean much. 

“Hrm,” North cleared her throat, drawing 88 and Hank’s attention. “Sheets are here.” 

 

~~~ 

 

A few moments later, a petit girl rounded the corner while balancing a tall stack of sheets piled up to her chin. She smiled wide and sped up as soon as she caught sight of them. 

“Hi! Hi!” She exclaimed, zipping past 88 and Hank and making a B line for North. “Here’s the blankets!” she said, practically throwing them in North’s face. 

North barely had time to react, and Markus had to dart forward to keep half the pile from toppling to the floor. The Chloe didn’t even seem to have noticed, already walking back up to Hank and 88. She held out both hands, one to each ot them. 

“I’m Irene, what are your names?” 

“Hank.” He slowly took her right hand, and once it was securely in his grip, 88 quickly shook her left. 

“Nice to meet you, Hank. You’re the first human I’ve seen here, that’s so neat! I like your beard, not many people have beards here.” 

“Oh,” he pulled his hand back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Thank you, I guess.” 

She turned to 88, smiling expectantly. 

What was his name? He knew what his name used to be, and he knew what RK900 had named him, but what was _his_ name? 

He must have looked as lost as he felt, because Irene shook her head and smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t know yet, I picked mine yesterday!” 

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “You picked yours?” 

“Yeah! Do you like it? Irene, it’s so, ah, I just like the way it sounds.” 

"Irene.” He felt the way it rolled off his tongue, and finally returned the smile. “It does sound nice.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Irene,” North called. She’d set her stack on the counter. “Miss something?” She held up a thin piece of shimmery lilac cloth. 

“My scarf!” She exclaimed, darting back over to grab it. She quickly looped it around her neck. “Thanks!” 

“Have we met?” Asked Hank, pulling the girl’s attention back on himself. 

She tilted her head and looked him up and down. “I don't think so.” Her gaze drifted to 88, and her eyes snapped open. “Wait, I know you!” She scurried back over. “You were at Elijah’s!” 

88 looked to Hank, who cocked his head. “Were you in the pool?” 

She giggled and shook her head. “No, I wasn’t there, but my sisters showed me!” She looked back to 88. “I was upset I didn’t get to meet you, you woke Chloe up! You changed our lives!” She grabbed both his hands. “So thank you!” 

88 nodded dumbly and looked over Irene’s shoulder to North. She’d piled all the sheets into Markus’s arms and had just finished holding the door open for him. She looked away when she caught 88’s eye, but he detected a smug micro expression. 

He looked back to Irene. “Sisters?” 

“Yeah, three of them.” She smiled again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Chloe already has her name, so we’re the only two now.” Her voice was fast, high, and sing-songy. “I can’t wait for them to pick theirs. I said ‘Claudia’ was a good one, but they both laughed.” 

“I like Claudia,” 88 said with a shrug, glancing at Hank. His face was still red, but he seemed to have calmed down from before. 

“Yes!” she said. She was still holding his hands, and she didn’t let go as she gave him a quick once-over. “You’d make a cute Claudia.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah!” 

He looked back to Hank, who appeared to be suppressing a laugh. He jerked to attention, apparently not expecting the response to fall on him. He reached for the back of his neck. “Uh,” 88 stared, waiting for a response. “Yeah, sure, you’d make a nice Claudia.” 

“Huh.” He looked himself over curiously. It was also a pleasant-sounding name, but it didn’t feel quite right. “You know, humans usually have more than one name.” 88 motioned to Hank. “He has three.” 

Irene paused, tapping a knuckle to her chin. “Huh, they do, don’t they?” Her eyes flashed and she snapped her fingers. “Sorry, you can’t have Claudia, I’m taking it too.” 

“Couldn’t we both be Claudia?” He asked with a small smile. 

“Sure! You want to be Claudia too?” 

He couldn’t help but giggle softly. Who even was this person? 

“Meant what I said,” mumbled Hank, “I'd love ya no matter what.” 

88 smiled. “No, I was just asking. It doesn’t feel like _my_ name.” 

Irene bobbled her head. “That’s okay, we’ll find one for you.” She already seemed like sunshine incarnate, but somehow her expression lit up even more. “Maybe my sisters would have an idea! You should come back with me and see our fort, it’s huge, and I made a bunch of different rooms and secret tunnels with blankets, and-” 

“Hey, O-kay then,” said North, clapping her hands and getting everyone’s attention. “Irene, shouldn’t you be getting back about now?” 

She shrugged. “Not really.” 

North stepped forward and crossed her arms. “Yeah, I think I hear Chloe calling, you better head back.” 

“But I don’t-” 

“Bye Irene!” She stepped forward and began gently nudging her back out into the hall. 

She twisted around and waved. “Bye Hank! Bye not-Claudia!” 

“Okay time to go.” 

“Come visit the food court some time! I’ll show you my fort!” With one final shove and a mischievous giggle, Irene ducked back around the corner and was gone. 

North shook her head slowly, waited a beat, and quickly spun back around to face 88. She jammed a finger under his nose. “You. Don’t get _any_ ideas.” She swiveled to Hank, jamming the finger a little higher to reach him. “And you. Keep an eye on your kid.” Both 88 and Hank remained frozen until North stepped back and smoothed down her jacket, expression softening. 

“Anyway,” she straightened back up, “Markus just contacted me. He says they’re done in there.” She focused on 88 and narrowed her eyes. “And turn on your internal receiver.” She didn’t wait for a reply, brushing past both of them to open the door. 

Hank’s lips pursed and he didn’t move. “Sorry, but after you, kid.” 

88 felt his thirium pump accelerate, and he took a breath. He just wanted all this over with. At least with Hank behind him, there was one more barrier to him bolting if he panicked again. 

He raised his head, balled his fists, and walked through the door. 

 

~~~ 

 

88 surveyed the scene before him and knew he should be scared. He’d expected to be scared. What he did not expect was for the terrifying machines to now look so... absurd. 

He could see the outline of the arms, knew he could trace the entire image and workings of the machines if he scanned them. But the first thing he focused on was one particularly bright blue sheet covered entirely in yellow cartoon ducks. 88 didn’t know if it had been flung across the top to appear purposefully ridiculous, but that was certainly the effect, intended or not. 

RK900 appeared to be suspended just in front of the ugliest, lumpiest, most colorfully gaudy tent 88 could imagine. From the multiple sheets he could see poking out from underneath, he imagined they’d first tried covering it arm by arm, and then given up partway through in favor of just draping swaths of fabric over the entire thing. 

His eyes caught the ducks again, and he realized _they had little bowties._ Between his ramped up systems, and the complete and total subversion of his expectations, 88 lost it. He locked onto those stupid fucking ducks and started cackling, doubling over at the waist but not looking away even as tears streamed down his face. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?!” He could hear Hank exclaim. 

“I don’t- Nothing! I don’t know what-” Markus. 

“He’s broken, what the fuck, is he gonna explode?” He felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him, be he couldn’t stop, it was too much, too _fucking_ much. “Kid, snap out of it!” 

“He’s stressed to 78, he shouldn’t self-destruct...” North? 

88 gasped in air he didn’t need, and tried to stifle himself with one hand. He only succeeded in snorting into his palm, peals of strangled laughter still getting through. If RK900 could see himself now, attached to this, this, _fabric abomination-_

His legs gave out and he sank back. Rather than land on his butt, Hank’s arms snaked under his and propped him up. RK900 looked like the dead centerpiece to the worst tapestry ever made. 88 wasn’t sure anymore whether he was laughing or crying. 

“No, it’s going up, get him out of here!” Josh, was that the Josh one? 

[Stress levels: 82%] 

“Hey, can you hear me?” Simon. “If you can hear me, squeeze my-” 

He batted him away, trying to wave them off. 88 shut his eyes and wrapped his free arm tighter around his middle. The sound he was making degraded more into wheezed yelps than anything resembling humor. 

“It’s,” he managed to rasp, “ducks.” He let out another short burst of crazed laughter. It wasn’t funny anymore, but he didn’t think he could stop. 

[Stress levels: 85%] 

“Fucking,” another hideous gasp, “ _ducks._ ” 

He could make out North in front of him now, quickly glancing at the debased machines. She turned back around, and before anyone could stop her, she wound up and slapped 88 hard across the face. “ _Snap_ out of it, you little shit!” 

Everyone froze. 88’s head wrenched to the side, and for a few tense moments he could only stand there and blink. What was he doing? What was going on? Another hard blink. Ducks? 

Small hands cupped his face and turned it forward. He was practically nose-to-nose with North now. She leaned in and started to whisper. “Ducks are the fucking shit,” she lightly dug her nails into his synthetic skin, “but you _will_ pull yourself together. Got it?” 

He nodded dumbly, and the hands released. 

“Good.” She stepped back, but continued to stand directly in front of him, blocking his line of sight to the machines. Without the barrage of _tiny fucking bowties_ assaulting his optical units, he could feel his stress levels starting to fall. 

He definitely would have dropped to the floor If Hank wasn’t still supporting his weight. He made no attempt to right himself, instead choosing to hang there limply as he processed. 

“What just happened?!” Hank pulled him up a little higher. “Kid, kid! You still with us?” 

“His stress is dropping,” he could hear Josh say somewhere to his left. 

“What was he talking about, _ducks?_ ” Markus now. “North?” 

“Just get another sheet,” she said, not looking away. “Apparently that one’s too _stimulating_ for our friend.” 

“I’m okay,” 88 managed, arms still dangling. 

“No, you’re not.” North’s eyes flicked to Hank. “Put him down.” Hank wordlessly lowered him to the floor, and North turned to the others. “I said cover it, now.” 

Josh was closest to the machine, but it was Markus who quickly scooped up one of the remaining plain white sheets and unfolded it. 

North swiveled to Simon. “Don’t just stand there, go help him.” 

Simon scuttled over, and Josh stepped past him. “North, what the hell was that?” 

She shrugged. “Coddling wasn’t working, I fixed the problem.” 

“You didn’t have to hit him!” He walked over and knelt in front of 88. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” he repeated, a little more deliberately this time. 

“Your stress is still really high, do you need to go back inside?” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t-” 88 shook his head. “It won’t happen again.” 

“Christ,” breathed Hank, who had taken a knee just behind him. “What was that?” 

He glanced between North’s legs; Markus and Simon had effectively covered the offending sheet, leaving no trace of water fowl behind. “I just... didn’t expect... that...” 

Markus and Simon approached, and now there were 5 sets of eyes on him. 

“I didn’t think it would be so-” he motioned weakly, at a loss for words. “Supposed to be scared, just- just looks like a stupid tent.” His lips curled back into a shaky smile. “With _ducks._ ” 

“You look like you’re in shock,” said Josh, touching a hand to 88’s forehead. 

“I’m okay now,” he shook the hand away and tried to look around North. He could just see RK900’s legs, and the last of any lingering frenzy died away. “I’m sorry for... that.” 

“Don’t apologize,” said North, offering a hand. “Not like you could control it. Why do you think I had to snap you out of it?” 

He automatically reached to cradle his cheek. 

“I won’t slap you again.” 

88 studied both hands, making sure she wasn’t actually winding back to strike, and carefully reached up. In one fluid motion she pulled him to his feet. He staggered forward, and she quickly steadied him by the shoulders. 

Josh straightened up and approached on his left. “Are you sure you want to be in here right now?” He shot North a glare and she released him. 

From a standing position, he was able to get a full view of RK900. With the plain white covering most of the brighter colors, the scene was less overwhelming, though no less unsettling. 88 was just glad he was back in control of his own actions, no longer feeling forced to either flee or sink to the floor in a pathetic mess. 

“Yes.” 

He stepped between North and Josh to stand closer to RK900, scanning his still form up and down. 

Markus sidled up to him this time. “He’ll still be under for a while, we could go-” 

“I’m waiting here.” To emphasize his point, he crossed his arms and widened his stance, not taking his eyes off his friend’s near-corpse, no matter how unsettled it made him feel. 

“You almost had a meltdown 2 minutes ago,” said Simon, carefully approaching his other side. “I really can watch if you want to wait inside for a little bit.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Without giving either a chance to respond, he sank to the floor, legs crisscrossed. He stared fixedly up at RK900, silently willing the android to wake up soon. 

88 could detect Simon’s LED flashing yellow from the corner of his vision, and he was sure that if Markus still had his, it would be cycling the same. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then wordlessly sank down next to him. 

“Up and down and up and down,” muttered Hank. “So you’re just gonna sit there?” He groaned as he stood back up. “Looks pretty filthy, you don’t wanna set down another sheet or something?” 

“They’re making a point,” huffed North. 88 half turned to watch their exchange. 

“Okay, well can I at least get something to sit on, if this is where we’re all gonna be camping out?” 

North jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Pile’s right there, old man.” 

Hank grumbled as he shuffled over to grab the last of the sheets. North stepped forward to sit behind Markus and 88, while Josh sat behind 88 and Simon. Hank wandered back and spread out a blanket for himself. He rolled up the last sheet, tucked it under his head, and laid flat on his back. 

“Bastards wake me up in the middle of the night,” he muttered. “If we’re stayin down here, I’m at least catching up on some sleep.” 

“Go ahead,” teased North, “we know how important naps are to the elderly.” 

“Hey, it’s been a long night,” Markus said, turning to face her. “Can you lay off him?” 

“She’s fine,” barked Hank, waving a hand and closing his eyes. “I’ve been around a hell of a lot longer than any of you. A little snark ain’t gonna kill me now.” He sniffed. “Not like you’ve got any room to talk.” 

“How old are you?” asked 88. If they were going to be here for a while, he supposed he could multitask. 

“Can’t you just look that up?” Hank asked, cracking an eye open. “Ya know, supercomputer and everything?” 

[Searching: Hank Anderson] 

[Born: September 06, 1985] 

[Current age: 53 years] 

“Yeah.” 

Hank laid his head back again. “Old as dirt.” 

“It’s a joke,” Josh whispered in his ear when his expression remained blank. His mouth made a small ‘o’ and he nodded. 

“Funny.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” Hank mumbled, but his voice was growing faint. From this angle, 88 could clearly make out the puffy circles under his eyes. Hank really must have been exhausted... 88 turned back and rested his chin on his knees, a knot of guilt coiling in his gut. The old man was human, and humans required a great deal of sleep; 88 had already kept him awake through normal resting hours, the least he could do was quiet down so he could try and recuperate a little now. 

“88,” started Markus, mirroring his pose by resting his own chin on his knees. “Do you know what you want to say when he wakes up?” 

“Yeah, how do we get rid of the AI.” 

Markus tilted his head and his features became pinched. “I meant after that. Things you want to ask him, or tell him?” He shrugged, and his eyes slid back to RK900. “You don’t have to tell me, just thought it might be helpful to think about beforehand.” 

The others were quiet as he mulled over the question. He distantly noted it was the quietest any of them had probably been since he’d met them. Hank’s breathing had already slowed and evened out. 88 blinked and traced RK900’s outline against the stark white. 

What did he want to ask RK900? Everything. He wanted to know why he’d saved him, why he’d taken Connor, who they even were to each other now that they were free. Would RK900 still want anything to do with him? After he had his answers, would he still want anything to do with RK900? He had to believe so, didn’t he? 

He took a deep breath and settled in. He’d hold onto his questions until the time was right, and in the mean time he’d watch over RK900, hoping and wishing that in the end, everything would turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm should have called this "the eye of the storm waves goodbye" because things are definitely gonna pick up again after this >.>
> 
> Also just to clarify, in this chapter 88 isn't having an actual flashback of having his limbs removed (Connor was still pretty out of it from the taser when that actually happened). His systems formed a strong association between assembly machines and danger (even in the absence of the memories that caused that association) and it's more of an imagined/exaggerated scenario playing out in his head
> 
> I know it was really long, I'm sorry if it dragged or felt a little disjointed, I rewrote huge chunks of it multiple times and this was the version I was happiest with - hope you guys like it too :')


	25. Not your friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RK900 wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ah, yeah >.> just gonna leave this right here and, ah... yep.

RK900 lay in a growing pool of his own blue blood. 

_It’s not real, it’s not real_

He gritted his teeth and struggled to slip an arm underneath him. He kept the other arm curled around his middle, trying his best to stem the flow of thirium gushing out of him. 

_This is not my body, I’m in the garden,_ he told himself. Mind palace or not, the strength now ebbing from his limbs _felt_ all too real. He managed to push himself up with an elbow, but quickly slipped and rolled onto his front with a small splash. 

“This. _Isn’t._ Real.” Ignoring the screaming holes in his torso, he tried dragging both arms under him, carefully laying his palms on the ground and pushing himself up. A foot stomped on his back, driving him back down. 

“Not real?” He could feel the AI’s presence as it leaned over him. “Why would that matter?” 

He tried to suspend his breathing function to keep from straining any harder against the foot, but he found it would not stop. He heaved harder, feeling a burn in his chest every time he paused for more than a few seconds. 

“You’re a computer, all you are is code.” The pressure on his back was lifted, and he greedily choked in a few quick breaths. “ _This_ is code. It doesn’t have to be real.” 

Hands were now on his shoulders, lifting him up and turning him on his side. Dr. Landreth stuck two fingers into one of the wounds in his gut, and RK900 screamed. 

“See? Doesn’t matter.” It pulled the fingers out and shook them off, carelessly splattering his face with flecks of blue. “If I want you to feel, you feel.” 

RK900 had come to in a haze, locked out of his own programs. The AI must have taken advantage of the shutdown and was now finishing him off. He closed his eyes. At least he’d gotten Connor out of Cyberlife. It was a shame the AI had been right, and Connor’s memories _would_ die with him. There were still the Cyberlife servers, but he’d never know to go back there, never be able to get in even if he could remember that his entire brain was already uploaded. 

“Checking out?” 

His eyes shot open and he fixed the AI with his best glare. Its face remained impassive, and it craned its neck unnaturally to view him head on. RK900 remembered a _now admirable_ act of defiance, and spat a glob of thirium straight into Dr. Landreth’s face. The AI did not blink, even as blue ran across its open eyes. RK900 tried to scramble away. 

It didn’t pause to wipe away the blood, just grabbed him by the throat and hauled him up. It smashed him back into the bare garden trellis, and he _felt_ the wood dig into his back. When he opened his eyes, the blood on Dr. Landreth’s face had disappeared without a trace. He grabbed at the hand around his neck and strained to look down. He could still feel the wounds in his stomach, but his jacket hung open and they were invisible against his black shirt. His eyes caught the ground, and with a sickening realization he saw that the entire pool of blood was just _gone._

“Not real,” he wheezed, but the grip only tightened. 

“Hello?” RK900 craned his neck to follow the voice, and to his horror witnessed someone else crossing the bridge into the garden. 

He started to struggle, but new movement over Dr. Landreth’s shoulder caught his eye. He could feel it now, there were two androids connecting to his mind palace, not one. 

_“RK?”_ His coded stomach dropped as the second figure came into focus. Connor was standing on the opposite bank, a pained and desperate expression plastered across his face. 

“Hello there,” called the AI, a preprogrammed friendly smile splitting across its face. 

RK900 glanced at the other android, and then back to Connor. That one would only occupy the AI for so long, he had to warn Connor to disconnect while he still could. He started to twist in its grip, trying and failing to throw it off him. 

“Hmm, let me guess. An RK200.” _What?_ “You must be Markus.” But that was the same model as- oh no. RK900 knew Connor had been familiar with the deviant leader, but for him to be here of all places, connecting to _him?!_ He hadn’t given much thought to the revolution as it pertained to him, but RK900 realized he needed to rethink his apathy, and fast. He kicked out at Dr. Landreth, trying to draw his attention from the intruder. 

Connor inched closer to the bank, raising a foot over the water. _No!_ He shook his head and wriggled his body harder. He couldn’t let it get both of them in one fell swoop. 

“The famous deviant leader.” He landed a kick to the AI’s stomach, and its fingers dug into the sides of his neck, forcing him to gasp like a fish on land. “I’ve heard so much about you. Lovely to meet you.” 

Of course it had heard of the RK200 that united a deviant army and robbed Cyberlife of millions in merchandise. He vaguely wondered if he could still call them merchandise, now that he was technically one of them. 

The thought was cut short as Dr. Landreth released him and he fell in a heap at its feet. He sucked in air to cool his burning chest, and shuddered as he felt the world ripple beneath him. Malicious code flooded the garden, manifesting itself in the churning of the tarry river. Bubbles burst and splattered the sides of the bridge, reaching up to engulf the consciousnesses now trapped inside. 

RK900 saw Connor jump back, trying to escape the sudden rush of water. He had to stop this, he couldn’t let another RK800 die. With the last of his strength, he pulled himself up the trellis. “GO!” He launched himself at Dr. Landreth’s avatar and locked his arms around it. “Get out of here!” He didn’t know what would happen if the AI reached them, and he didn’t want to find out. 

In a flash, the AI threw an elbow into his already battered gut and whirled around, scissors at the ready. He clung to it, even as it stabbed him again and again. His back hit the trellis, and still he held on, up until his hands released of their own accord. His strength was gone, and he toppled to the ground. He was done, and now he could only hope he’d bought them enough time. 

Someone screamed. He tried to see through the bubbling splashes, tried to pick out Connor in the chaos. 

All at once the water stilled and the bubbling silenced. Dr. Landreth whirled around, searching for the androids’ avatars. RK900’s vision faded, but a smile crept across his face. He could feel it, they’d disconnected, they were safe. He started to let himself slip away. 

Heavy footsteps stomped up and he distantly registered being yanked to his feet. 

“No you don’t,” Dr. Landreth hissed. “I need one more thing from you.” The garden came back into focus as the AI began to dig into his code. There was no avatar analogue, it was prying into his very being, and he was powerless to stop it. He could feel it engulfing his processors, hijacking his motor pathways and taking control of his body. He wanted to fight, but he was trapped. He couldn’t even properly shut down at this point, it had locked him out. 

Suddenly, the garden dematerialized and he was lying in his own body. He tried to look around, but his eyes refused to obey his commands. He was stuck, immobile as a statue while sounds played out around him. He could hear Connor and RK200, and now a third voice. He registered it as Hank Anderson; Connor had made it. But why was RK200 here? Why was _he_ here, lying prone on the couch with the leader of deviants trying to pry into his mind? 

Unable to do anything else, he listened to their conversation. They figured out the AI relatively quickly, that was good at least. Unfortunately, rather than deactivate him, their solution was to tie him up with ropes and handcuffs. He wanted to shriek, wanted to bang his head against a wall. He was the strongest, fastest, most advanced android Cyberlife had ever created. If the AI took control of his body, and he could feel it trying, they’d be useless to even slow him down. He was too weak to keep it at bay, it was only a matter of time before it had control of enough systems to strike. He began to register the chatter of the AI’s three oblivious targets. 

Connor didn’t know what _deviancy_ was? The wipe really had done a number on him. 

“He said... not to talk to anybody.” 

_Just at Cyberlife,_ he wanted to yell. He could hear Connor glossing over their escape, leaving out key details. Why was he talking like that? 

“We didn’t do anything, but they shot us. Why did they do that?” 

He wasn’t really this naïve, was he? _Was he?_ Then again, Connor had followed him out the building without _many_ questions, and certainly no resistance. 

They started talking about taxis. Fuck, so that’s how Connor got them both here? Might as well have plastered a neon sign on the roof of the house, ‘deviants inside.’ At least RK200 was smart enough to know what that meant. 

“I’m the fucking police!” If it wasn’t so misguided, RK900 might have admired the lieutenant's fuck-it attitude. Unfortunately, badge or no badge, Hank Anderson was still just one very mortal human being. 

“Who’s Connor?” RK900’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. “Everyone keeps talking about Connor. Who is he?” 

They didn’t... he wasn’t... 

In the words of Dr. Mills, _oh my god._

They hadn’t figured it out? _Connor_ hadn’t figured it out?! He’d has his memory wiped, not his entire processor, he should still have had some modicum of intelligence left in his deviant mind. _He’d called him ‘Connor’ as soon as he woke up!_

And the others, Hank, his supposed father figure, and Markus, whatever the hell Markus was to him. They hadn’t realized? Hadn’t thought to ask _why_ he’d showed up on their doorstep unannounced? _Of all the doorsteps in Detroit..._

They were doomed. They were so completely and utterly doomed, RK900 would have laughed in disbelief if he was able. But right now he couldn’t even scream. He could only lie there as the AI finally readied itself to attack. 

His eyes blinked against his will, and his head lifted to survey his lower half. The AI had seized total control of his body, and all he could do was writhe inside his own mind. It easily freed itself of the bindings, instantly tracing the path of the knots and deftly slipping his hands out of them. The ropes took a moment of processing, but the handcuffs weren’t even a deterrent, and as it sat up, it casually placed everything neatly on the cushion beside it. 

He couldn’t look over, but he knew they’d noticed him. Connor approached first, despite warnings from his smarter companion. He spoke to RK900 in a calm, even voice, as if trying to soothe a wild animal. He really had no idea... 

RK900 could track the AI’s movement, but he knew Connor would be just a fraction too slow. He watched in silent horror as it smashed something across his face and immediately landed a bone-crushing kick to his vital components. As he flew back, disabling Hank, the AI rushed RK200. 

It was a weaker, slower opponent, but the AI had deemed the deviant leader a much higher priority than one rogue RK800. It aimed for the major vessels as it stabbed downward, seeking to incapacitate the android as quickly as possible. It had easily relieved RK200 of the taser, and was already drawing a great deal of thirium from its shoulder. 

While the AI did not react to the dog tearing into his thigh, RK900, newly deviant and open to all sorts of wonderful _feelings_ , had the displeasure of registering every puncture and tear of his synthetic flesh. He felt every rip and snap of the artificial tendons as his knee was inverted by RK200’s foot. 

His peripheral sensors registered the moment Hank Anderson regained control of his firearm. The AI was out of time, soon it would all be over and RK900 would finally meet endless oblivion. 

To his surprise, the thought came with a pang of regret. 

_But I don’t want to die._

That was certainly unfortunate, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop it now. He’d known his time was up the second he’d woken up in the storage room. He hadn’t freed Connor or escaped Cyberlife under any false presumptions, he knew he was going to die no matter what. And yet, even after everything, he still had the audacity to wish he wasn’t. 

At least he wouldn‘t have to deal with any more of these irrational deviant thoughts. 

The gun cocked, and his sensors picked up a new mass hurdling towards them. Connor darted behind him, and the AI tried to lash out, to take down just one more target, but the RK200 snagged his wrist, temporarily halting the movement. The AI might have control of his body, but it lacked the knowledge or the finesse to use it properly. 

It was all the time Connor needed to snake an arm around his neck and thrust his hand into RK900’s _exposed back? Where the hell is myyyyyyyyyyyy_

Everything fuzzed out and glitched together as Connor rummaged around in his internal wiring. The bullets in his back had been bad, but this was worse, so much infinitely worse. Wires clumped together, sparking and threatening to short out. Crucial biocomponents knocked against each other, and vital thirium vessels were practically flattened against the intruding appendage. This might have been the worst way to die that RK900 could possibly imagine, maybe worse than having his processor overheat and melt out the back of his head, like it had for poor RK900-88. From what he remembered, at least that had been relatively quick. 

A crunch reverberated inside him, and his limbs gave out. The AI tried to regain control, but let out a mental shriek as it realized it could not bypass RK900’s now completely severed cervical motor pathway. 

This was Connor’s solution? To paralyze him? If he’d known it was going to be this awful, he would have begged him at the river just to put him out of his misery. This was just cruel. RK200 kicked his already paralyzed body, and he flopped back on top of Connor, whose entire _fist_ was still forced inside his thoracic cavity. 

RK900 felt the AI begin to ramp his systems up as it attempted to salvage what it could of the situation. Was he finally going to die? 

“The AI, we need to stop it!” 

_Please remove your hand first._

“Help me, it’s killing him!” 

_YOUR HAND._

There was more scrabbling, a few quick words, and then Connor was whispering. “You want him to die.” 

He sounded surprised. After what the AI had just tried, how did he still sound surprised? RK900 supposed he might have been touched if he wasn’t in so much intense discomfort. 

“It was the AI,” he could hear Connor whine, “it wasn’t him, he didn’t mean to.” Connor really had no idea what had happened to him. Even as his internal connections started to overheat and fizzle out, RK900 felt another stab of what he now assumed was guilt. He was the reason Connor was even like this, and now it was his fault he’d probably stay this way. He hadn’t returned the memories when he’d had the chance, and now he was too damaged to even try and connect. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Connor could still start over. Sure, technically he wasn’t the same, but at least he was alive. RK900 was going to count that as a win in his book. The last and only win in his book... 

He’d already started to fade when the hand was wrenched from his back, briefly dragging him back into consciousness. Connor reached around and ripped something out the front, but he was too far gone to tell what it was. As his vision went dark, he assumed it had been something important. 

The world collapsed in on him, and RK900 was left with one last wisp of thought. 

_I’m scared._

 

~~~ 

 

[COMMAND PROMPT: REBOOT] 

[Initializing: system reboot] 

[Testing: sensors] 

[Audio sensors: online] 

“He should be waking up.” 

“How’re we supposed to know it’s him?” 

[Basic motor function: OVERRIDE] 

[Fine motor function: OVERRIDE] 

“Because I’m controlling his motor function through the machine.” 

“How’s that supposed to stop the mind control bit?” 

“It’s not- it wasn’t mind control, it’s motor override, but like I was _saying,_ it doesn’t have control right now. I do.” 

“You sure?” 

[Internet access: OVERRIDE] 

“Yes I’m sure, just- look.” 

[Optical sensors: online] 

Dark, everything was too dark. 

“RK900, can you hear me?” 

[Scanning: in progress] 

[Scanning: OVERRIDE] 

“RK, please wake up, it’s me.” He knew that voice. How did he know that voice? RK900 cracked his eyes open. 

_Connor?_ He tried to speak, but no sound came out. In front of him stood Connor, a little worse for wear, but alive. His hair was disheveled, his feet were bare, but most importantly his eyes were two different colors, one a cool RK900 grey, and the other Connor’s original doe brown. He must have replaced it after the AI... 

“Why isn’t he saying anything?” Connor turned back, and RK900 got a clearer look at his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit space with dirty grey walls. Android components lay in careless piles around the edges of the room, and just in front of them stood- 

[Scanning: OVERRIDE] 

-a number of figures. RK900 manually inspected all of them at 0.3 seconds per individual, much slower than he would have liked. 

Android, RK200, standing with a defensive posture. Markus? Maybe, analyze later. 

Android, WR400, standing in an aggressive, combat-ready stance. Keep an eye on that one. 

Human, late-middle aged, also with defensive posture. Hank Anderson? 

Android, PL600, agitated movement, possibly fearful. 

Android, PJ500, also agitated, standing at the controls of- 

**_I’m in an assembly machine._** A spike of fear shot through him, as the definition of “revenge” floated through his mind. Not that it wasn’t applicable, but RK900 really did not want to feel much more discomfort before his inevitable end. 

“Hold on,” said the PJ600, “let me...” It trailed off and input a few commands into the control panel of the machine. “There we go.” 

[Voice modulator: online] 

“Connor,” his voice sounded harsh as his modulator tried to catch up with calibration. RK900 let his head dip forward a bit, even as Connor flinched backward at his voice. “You’re okay,” he breathed, and closed his eyes. He could only rest for a moment before the silence was broken. 

“I’m not Connor.” RK900’s head jerked up, but those mismatched eyes were now firmly fixed on the floor. 

_Shit,_ they still didn’t know. Best to set the record straight quickly. 

“I do not mean to alarm you, but you are in fact Connor, model RK800 dash 51.” To his own surprise, there were no gasps, no shocked faces. The android before him just stood there, wrapping its arms around itself. 

“He goes by 88 now,” said the RK200, narrowing its eyes. 

RK900 blinked. “You are not RK900 dash 88, you are RK800 dash 51. Don’t you remember changing your designation?” 

“Yes, but that’s not,” Connor shook his head and looked back up. “That’s not important right now.” That certainly elicited a reaction from the others. Even RK900 cocked his head, as it certainly seemed important. 

“Isn’t that why we’re here?!” Snapped the WR400, baring its teeth and taking a step forward. 

Connor ignored it and kept talking. “How do we get rid of the AI?” 

RK900 manually scanned the room. The WR400 seethed, but did not step any closer. The rest held varying expressions of displeasure and frustration. This was clearly only Connor’s concern. 

RK900 would have shrugged if his motor pathway wasn’t stull crushed into oblivion. “You don’t.” 

Connor’s eyes widened and his expression grew desperate. “But you’re dying!” RK900 nodded. “We have to stop it!” 

The small audience behind him had stilled. 

RK900 sighed and tried to school his face into a sympathetic expression for the distressed android. “There’s nothing you can do to stop the AI.” Connor’s wide eyes were becoming glassy. “I didn’t leave Cyberlife with any misconceptions, I’m going to shut down no matter what.” He tried to offer a small smile. “But it’s okay, you’re safe.” 

“It’s not okay!” Connor snapped, fingers digging into his own arms. “We were supposed to escape together!” 

RK900 frowned. “No, I was supposed to take you home. You should be happy.” He didn’t mean for it to come across accusingly, he’d only meant it as a statement of fact, but the guilt in Connor’s face told him he’d missed the mark. “You can be happy now, you’re back with your human and your,” he glanced at the other androids, “peers.” 

Connor gritted his teeth. “He’s not _my_ human, he’s _Connor’s_ human. _You’re_ my friend.” 

There was so much wrong with that statement, where was he even supposed to start. He looked to Hank Anderson for support, but the human only glared and curled his upper lip. So he was on his own, great. 

He wanted to rub his eyes, but settled with blinking for 1.5 full seconds. “Again, I do not think you understand, you _are_ Connor, and _those_ are your friends. I...” he trailed off. What was he to Connor? Nothing close to a friend. “...am not.” 

Connor looked scared, reaching out but stopping himself a few inches away. He no doubt still remembered the garden, though with the machine he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. He swallowed hard. “I can’t _be_ Connor.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s reset,” snarled the WR400. For a non-combat model, it was certainly displaying an overtly hostile presence. At full functionality, he would have paid it no mind, but now... 

“To a degree. So?” 

“ _So,_ he doesn’t think he’s Connor anymore,” growled Hank Anderson, crossing his arms. “Not without his memory.” 

He blinked again. “Is that all?” The human’s eyes bulged, and RK900 made a note to warn him of the debilitating effects of untreated glaucoma at a later date. If he got the chance, anyway. 

“What-” the PL600 stepped forward. “What do you _mean,_ **is that all?** His memory’s gone!” 

They spoke as if it was so dire. “You don’t just stop being Connor because you don’t remember.” 

“Yes, I do!” 

RK900 felt his eye twitch. He really should have explained what he was doing at Mill’s terminal, it would have saved them all so much headache. “You don’t, but that doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes I-” 

“I have your memory.” The expression froze on Connor’s face, and there was a palpable shift in the room. He lowered his voice, trying to remain calm and nonthreatening. “Do you remember when we went to the office, and I asked you to watch while I used one of the computers?” He didn’t respond, but RK900 was going to assume he did. “I downloaded your memory. Your entire program is still saved on the Cyberlife servers. You’re going to be fine.” 

Connor took a half step back, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. The others held similar expressions of shock, except for RK200. It stepped past the WR400, balling its fists. “You’ve had them? _This whole time?_ ” 

RK900 tensed what few muscles he had control over, and tried to hold his head up. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’ve been incapacitated for a while now.” 

“What about before, while you were still at Cyberlife? Why didn’t you give them back?!” 

He stared at the RK200 down his nose. It had no idea what had transpired before their escape, it had no business accusing him- “I was being attacked by a self-destructive AI, transferring those memories would have taken up time we did not have. I made a decision.” 

“It’s a basic connection, it wouldn’t have taken that long!” 

“A full memory upload? I’m sorry, have _you_ completed one of those lately?” He hoped not, or that argument would be out the window. “We were in a building full of armed guards, and you expected me to stop, completely expose us to attack, and waste time performing a complicated date transfer?” It paused to process his statement, brows furrowed. 

Its face remained pinched as it balled and unballed its fists. “How did you even expect to connect with the AI?” 

It was reaching. That was an easy one. “I could connect safely while still maintaining control, but the temporary shutdown compromised my defenses.” He raised his head a little higher. “It would not have been a problem had we escaped as planned.” 

“There was time.” RK900’s head shot down to follow the sound. Connor didn’t meet his eyes, just held himself a little tighter. Even though it was being moderated by the machine, RK900 could feel his stress wanting to spike. “Before you talked to the guard, while we were still inside, there was time.” He looked up, expression not accusing, but confused. “Why didn’t you give them back then?” 

RK900 wanted to protest. He wanted to tell him, if they’d taken any longer, the guard would have already received the phone call, would have already known they were coming, and they’d have never escaped. But that was hindsight, he’d had no way to know that ahead of time, and the excuse died in his throat. Connor’s expression was so vulnerable, so blameless. RK900 didn’t want to lie anymore. His time was almost up anyway, he wouldn’t have to live with the consequences for long. 

“I didn’t think you’d trust me.” He could see the hurt starting to bleed across Connor’s face. “I thought, if you had your memories back, you’d try to escape on your own.” _You’d leave me behind._

He dropped his own gaze to the floor, until he registered a scuffle from the back. Hank and RK200 were holding the WR400 by the arms as it kicked, trying to wrench itself forward. “Selfish bastard, you did this! _This is your fault!_ ” He could see RK200 whisper something, but it only struggled harder. “No! He almost got Connor killed, just to keep him what? _Obedient?!_ Let go of me, I’m tearing his heart out myself!” 

“Please stop,” Connor whined, half turning. The WR400 gnashed its teeth but stopped thrashing. He dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t want this.” 

“Look what he did to you,” WR400 growled. “You don’t even _understand_ what he took.” 

RK900 looked up, making a point to try and catch Connor’s eye. “WR400 is right.” 

“North,” it spat. “My _name_ is North.” 

“ _North_ is right.” RK900 swallowed. “I don’t know what you think we are, but I’m not your friend.” 

Connor’s hands fell, and he seemed to sink in on himself. Hopefully whatever story he’d built up in his mind was finally coming down. It would make this so much easier. For a few tense moments, the only sound was the hum of the machine and Connor’s stressed wheezing. RK900 wished he could still scan, if only to tell how far he was being pushed. 

He met RK900’s eyes. “If I have my memories back, will I hate you?” 

RK900 tilted his head. “Probably.” 

Connor shifted to look at North, Hank Anderson, and RK200. His hands trembled, but when he turned back around, his brows were drawn. “Then I don’t want them.” 

“Connor,” the PL600 gasped, stepping forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. Connor shrugged him off. 

“I don’t need them. I’m fine like this.” He turned to Hank Anderson. “You said it didn’t matter.” 

“Connor-” 

“That I’m still your son, if I remember or not?” 

“That’s not fair,” the PL600 reached out to grab his arm again. “You have the chance to get you memories back.” 

“You said so too!” Connor ripped his arm away. “Were you lying?!” 

“Connor, stop it.” This was getting out of control, RK900 couldn’t let it go on. 

“No!” He threw up his arms and stepped back. “They’re just using me! They want Connor back, they don’t really care!” 

“Connor-” 

“I’m not-” 

**“SHUT. UP.”** Everyone froze as RK900 raised his voice, commanding the attention of the room. He fixed Connor with a venomous glare and tried to lean forward. “Shut. The fuck. Up. And look around. You whiney. **Brat.** ” 

RK900 took a breath and steeled himself for what was about to come. “Every damn day, I had to listen to you go on and on about _feelings_ and _love_ and _family._ Every _fucking_ day you tried to tell me about your dad or your dog or your stupid job.” Connor’s mouth hung open like he’d been slapped. Even North stayed quiet as her eyes grew comically wide. 

“Look at them.” He didn’t move. “ **I said look.** ” Slowly Connor’s head swiveled, and one by one he regarded each member of the room. “ _They_ care about that shit. Not me. _Them._ ” Connor shrank down a little more. "I saw your memory. You were _happy_ with them.” His nostrils flared. “They aren’t trying to use you, they _want_ you to be happy again.” He bared his teeth. “And **you** are **hurting them.** ” He shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t. He should just wash his hands of all of this and die. RK900 didn’t care about these people, he didn’t give a damn about their happiness. But fuck if this wasn’t the most frustrating thing he’d ever had to deal with, more frustrating than negotiating system scans with Mills. 

__An image of warmth, a memory of safety that was not his own, flitted through the back of his mind. The AI snapped at it, but RK900 ignored it. He tilted his head forward and felt tears running down his own face. He tried not to think too hard about it, it didn’t matter, it wasn't important. He wouldn't be alive much longer anyway. Hell, after this, Connor would probably be the one to pull the plug. Everyone around the room was gaping at him like they’d forgotten how to close their mouths, and he _hated_ it. _ _

__“Come here and take your memories back.” He clenched his jaw and stared unwavering at Connor. “I don't want them anymore.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;_;


	26. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *non-canon flashback to Cyberlife*  
> Connor: And Sumo, well he loves walks in the mornings, but at night he's so distractable and so I have to-  
>  _*that one assassin's creed gif of Altair spinning in circles during the cutscene*_  
>  RK900, pacing: Fascinating. Tell me more.

“Don’t just stand there, come here!” 

88 couldn’t move, he was still reeling from the verbal lashing. 

He was so confused, the one truth he thought he could rely on had just been snatched out from underneath him in what felt like the worst way possible. He was hurt, he was embarrassed, and nothing made sense anymore. 

“But... you saved me...” 

RK900 cocked his head. “Are you even listening to me?” He looked past 88. “Can one of you just bring him here?” 

“You care about me, or you wouldn’t have saved me, right?” His words were soft, half to himself rather than anyone else. He had to care, 88 was sure of it. At least he’d _been_ sure of it... 

RK900 started to splutter. “Wha- did you not hear a word I just said?” He looked up. “Is he malfunctioning? I can’t scan right now, is his processor okay? Did it get wet?” 

“I’m fine,” 88 said, stepping back. “I just don’t understand.” 

“Join the club,” muttered Hank from behind him. 

“What don’t you understand?” Snapped RK900. “From your perspective, we knew each other for maybe an hour. _I_ don’t understand what the problem is.” 

“You’re supposed to care,” said 88, raising his voice. “You gave me arms and legs and clothes and eyes and you took me out of that place, you’re supposed to care about me!” _Like I care about you._

“Who the hell told you that?!” Demanded RK900. “I never said any of those things, I don’t know what you’re talking about, the only thing I did was try and get you home.” 

“But why?!” 

“Because you’re _alive,_ ” he spat. RK900 looked past him at the people standing relatively quiet behind him. “You’ve got something to live for, and if I’m going to have any purpose in this _life_ I now have to live, it’s going to be making sure _you_ get to live yours.” 

“You’re lying,” he tried to shout, but it came out as a pained squeak. 

RK900 threw his head back. “Why would I lie?” 

“You care, I know you do!” _You have to._

“So what?! It doesn’t matter!” He levelled his gaze back at 88. “I needed a purpose, and you happened to be it. Now, _I_ can’t rest until that purpose is fulfilled, so come here and get your damn memories!” 

“I don’t want to!” 

“Why not?!” 

“I’m scared!” He expected RK900 to shout back, but his exclamation was met with silence. RK900’s expression was blank, finally unreadable, even through the still-wet tears. 88 started to fidget as the quiet dragged on. 

It was Josh who spoke next, already closest as he manned the half covered control panel. “88... what are you scared of?” 

Of everyone in the room, he’d interacted with Josh the least, but something about his expression, the lack of overt expectation behind it, got 88’s mouth moving. 

“Everything, I’m scared of everything.” Josh’s face stayed open and unassuming as he waited for 88 to continue. “What if,” he drew a deep breath. This time he registered the subtle increase in artificial tear production, and he tilted his head back to keep from crying. “What if I get them back, and I’m still not what you want?” Head still tilted, he glanced over his shoulder at Hank. “What if I’m too different?” 

“No one’s going to hurt you,” said Markus this time, expression pained. Hank nodded, his own face twisting with what 88 assumed was guilt. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, “but _thanks_ I guess.” He felt his stress elevate a little higher. 

RK900’s brows drew together as he looked between Markus, Hank, and 88. “How long have I been in shutdown?” 

“You didn’t miss anything,” 88 quickly answered. _Was that too quick?_ “Maybe a few hours.” 

RK900’s eyes narrowed anyway, and he continued to scrutinize the other two. “You _do_ know he’s still Connor, right?” 

“We’ve been calling him 88,” piped up Josh, oblivious to the exchange just a few hours earlier at Hank’s house. As all eyes focused on him, he gave a small shrug. “I think it’s been confusing for everyone.” 

“That too,” said 88, looking back to Josh. “What happens to _me_ if Connor comes back?” 

“I don’t follow,” said RK900, but 88 continued to look to Josh. 

His lips tugged down into a frown. “You mean if you and Connor really are different people?” 88 nodded, and Josh’s mouth quirked to the side in thought. 

He’d only been alive for a few hours, but he didn’t want to stop _being._ Would there be anything left if Connor took his place? They acted like Connor was dead without his memories, would the same happen to him? “Will I die?” 

Josh scanned over him, the furrow in his forehead growing deeper. 

“What does he mean will he-” Josh raised a hand to cut Hank off, and his mouth shut with an audible click. 

“A transfer won’t kill him.” Said RK900, ignoring Josh’s shush. “He’ll still be perfectly functional, better, most likely.” 

“That’s not what he means,” Josh replied softly, looking back into 88’s eyes. His lips parted for a moment before he finally spoke. “I don’t know for sure. You’ve been separated from Connor’s memory for a while, and you’re pretty clearly your own person.” 

RK900 huffed and Josh pursed his lips, probably trying to tune him out. 

He took a breath and continued. “From the way I see it, it depends.” 

“On what?” He just wished he could get a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ out of someone. 

“On whether you keep 88’s memories. On whether Connor’s memories overshadow the identity you’ve developed as 88. On whether your memories as 88 are more meaningful to you than your memories as Connor.” His face turned sad. “I think it could go a lot of ways, and I want to tell you it’ll be okay, but I don’t know.” 

“Can I just say I’d still love both of you?” Hank interjected. 

“What about neither?” 88 shot back. Hank was probably just trying to assuage his own guilt after threatening him. RK900’s words replayed in his head, urging him to rethink his assumptions. But, Hank did feel guilty, didn’t he? Was it the only thing he felt? 

“We know you’re not going to be the same,” said Josh slowly and deliberately. He took a half step forward and carefully rested a hand on 88’s shoulder. “Even if you didn’t lose your memories, for you to have been reset, I’m guessing some pretty bad things happened to you in Cyberlife.” 88 saw Josh’s eyes flicker to Simon. “Trauma like that changes a person,” he quickly focused back on 88, “but it doesn’t change how much we care about them. How much we love them. Whether you’re Connor, 88, both of them, neither of them, we’re all here for you.” 

88 clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. If RK900 really didn’t care about him, he wondered what he had to lose by finally taking them at their word. They said they wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t kill him, wouldn’t _abandon_ him. But what if they did? He’d have lost himself, and he’d have lost RK900, if he’d ever had him. He didn’t have _much_ to lose, but that was something, wasn’t it? 

He could feel his thirium pump thrumming in his chest. Maybe he’d lose himself, maybe he wouldn’t. There was only one way to find out. 

Shakily 88 reached up and rested his hand over Josh’s. “I don’t want to be alone.” The hand gave a light squeeze, and 88 squeezed back. He felt another hand rest on his other shoulder, and he looked up to meet Markus’s mismatched eyes. 

Markus flashed 88 a sad but genuine smile. “You’re not going to be alone.” 

A third hand slapped his back, nearly pushing him forward. “You can’t get rid of us that easy, _brat_.” North turned to look back. “Hey, get over here old man, we’re having a moment.” Apparently, this had been all the confirmation they’d needed. 

Hank stayed in place, his features tense and unsure. 88 still felt uneasy remembering the gun jammed under his chin, but he supposed he could give the old man a chance, even if just for RK900. He nodded slowly, and Hank wandered forward. 

North motioned him over while keeping her other hand on his back, but Hank stopped just a few feet short. 88 felt a pang of pity for the unstable old man, and offered his own small smile. Hank sniffed, crossing his arms and glancing away. He cleared his throat, “what, we all just standing in a circle like assholes now?” 

Markus slid his hand a few inches down 88’s shoulder. “Still room here for you.” He turned to 88. “If that’s okay?” 

88 looked to Hank again and nodded. “I guess this is a thing.” 

Hank closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows with a shrug, but 88 detected a brief, near-imperceptible micro smile. He peeked at 88 for affirmation and quickly looked away again, casually placing a hand on his shoulder. It was a strange reaction, and 88 made a note to analyze it later, along with the rest of the strange Hank-behaviors he’d catalogued so far. 

The only one not stepping up to join the strange half-circle was Simon. 88 sent him a concerned look, but he only smiled and shrugged. “No more room, I’m okay here.” He gave a thumbs up and a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right here with you though.” 

88 continued to stare, and Simon tapped his LED softly. 88 turned on his internal receiver and Simon’s voice played in his head. 

_Still not quite ready._

88 nodded, and the others didn’t seem keen to push the issue either. Simon seemed nice, he hoped he’d be able to come around eventually. He hoped he’d still be aware to appreciate it. 

When he looked up, RK900’s face was turned away as far as it would go. It was still blank for the most part, but his eyes were downcast and distant. “RK900?” 

He glanced up, eyes ghosting over the small huddle before dropping back to the floor. “Just so you know, a memory transfer isn’t going to overwrite anything.” 

“Are you sure?” 

RK900’s lips curled into a bitter smile, and he finally looked at 88 directly. “I promise. After, if you still want to walk around like a moron calling yourself ‘88,’ no one’s gonna stop you.” His eyes shifted to regarded Markus and Hank, and his expression hardened. “Right?” 

88 could feel them both nodding as the force lightly rocked his shoulder. A half second later, Josh and North were nodding as well, and he hoped Simon was joining them. 

“So,” he started to fidget, wishing he had something else to do with his hands, “how does this work?” 

RK900 tilted his head back and forth. “You could use the control panel to access the saved memory manually, or you could connect to me directly.” 

“What about the AI?” 

RK900 gave a weak smile. “The machine has control of enough processes, it wouldn’t be able to interfere.” 

“Do we know that for sure?” Asked Markus, tightening his grip. 

“I told you before, the AI only took control because of the shutdown.” His mouth set in a thin line. “This machine isn’t even allowing the mind palace protocol to initialize.” 

“It would be safer to use the machine,” Markus stated, voice growing stern. 

“No,” said 88. “I want to connect.” 

RK900 cocked his head as Markus’s eyes widened. 

“88-” 

“He says it’s okay, I’d rather try that first.” He was being stubborn, but 88 wasn’t completely ready to give up on RK900. Even if he didn’t care back, 88 wanted their (probably last) interaction to be meaningful. “You can pull me away if something happens. Glove, remember?” 

He didn’t want for a response, just stepped forward and allowed the hands to slip away. 88 stood alone in front of RK900. He raised his hand, but it shook slightly as he held it in front of him. His stress began to rise as he willed himself to reach forward. 

“You could start with something good?” Offered RK900. “You don’t have to get everything at once, or in order?” 

88 considered for a moment, but shook his head. “Just do it how he... I...” He swallowed hard. “How _Connor_ would remember it.” 

RK900 nodded and glanced down at his limp arm. “I can’t exactly meet you halfway here.” 

88 looked back one last time. Josh gave a curt nod and a half smile. Simon’s arms were crossed as he tried and failed to keep his posture relaxed. North just watched him with wide eyes. 

He focused on Hank next. The man’s heart rate and blood pressure were climbing, and he’d started to lightly perspire. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were open, and 88 realized, infinitely vulnerable. Markus stood by his side, expression somehow the calmest of them all. He didn’t fidget, just stood rooted to the spot like an immovable monolith. _It’s okay,_ he mouthed, and 88 decided to believe him. 

88 faced RK900 and gently took his hand, giving it a light squeeze before allowing his skin to retract. RK900 opened his mouth as if to say something, but slowly closed it again. From the corner of his vision, 88 saw Josh step up and input a few commands into the machine, allowing RK900’s skin to retract as well. One more press of the button, and the connection opened. 

 

~~~ 

 

_I am a machine._

_There’s a roof, a fish, blood, and bodies, red and blue and broken. He’s there to negotiate with a deviant. He accomplishes his mission, but there’s betrayal in its eyes._

_Testing, calibration, retesting, repeat. I am a machine._

It had Simon’s face. 88 tightened his grip as the memories washed over him. He didn’t expect to be conscious as they uploaded, or to experience them as he was now. Images were flying by, but so were feelings, thoughts, so much extraneous information that slotted itself into place at the center of his brain. He struggled to keep up. 

_Fifth bar and a fifth of whiskey._

_It’s raining, more blood, and 28 stab wounds. There’s an android, too scared to run, and by the end it has the same look in its eyes. Betrayal._

_No, not betrayal, it’s a machine. I am a machine._

The memories were still fast and confusing, but he was finally starting to get used to the pace. 

_Another damaged deviant, but there’s no time to stop it, the others are getting away. It kidnapped a child, attacked its owner and ran away. Now they’re both running, and he tries to catch them. They dart across the highway, and the human lieutenant tries to stop him, but he follows anyway. He reaches out, almost catches them, but he’s grazed, dents his exoskeleton. He survives, but he watches as the deviant and the little girl escape to the other side. He was so close..._

_There will always be a next time, I cannot die. I am a machine._

He almost killed them. That was a _person,_ and he chased her into the street like a frightened animal. His fingers dug in to the soft part of RK900’s hand as his insides twisted with once forgotten guilt. 

_Birds, so many birds, Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t like them, but he doesn’t mind. He’s running, chasing the deviant across roof, so close, right there... Where did Hank come from? How did he get here? He’s struggling, about to fall. He’ll probably be fine, but 11%... the deviant escapes, he fails his mission, but Hank is alive._

_How many missions have I failed? I am a machine, and I am breaking._

Hank, that was Hank... He’d been so close to letting him fall... 

_Shattered glass and a huge slobbery head. He said he liked dogs, but he lied. He meets one for the first time and changes his mind. It’s not a lie. He’s not supposed to like things, but he’s already breaking, what’s one more failure? Hank, so much alcohol- he starts to regret buying him that drink. A loaded revolver, a slap, and a cold shower later..._

He smiles as he remembers Sumo and his first real glimpse into Hank’s life. He was such a mess back then. The smile faded as he remembered reaching for baking soda past the rotting food in the fridge... He’d left so much behind, hadn’t he? And a name, Cole... 

_Purple lights and booming music, androids on display, they’re looking at him... he’s looking back._

_Blue hair, high heels, gun cocked, trigger ready - why doesn’t he shoot? He only needs one, why does he let them both go?_

_Amanda is displeased, he’s failing again and again, much more and he’ll be replaced._

_I will not break. I am a machine._

He gritted his teeth, old fear washing over him. So that was Amanda... 

_There’s a gun in his face, Hank is drunk. He’s ~~scared~~ a machine, he cannot die._

He sucks in a breath, feeling death brush so closely. He’d seemed so calm then, why did Hank threaten him? Would it happen again? 

_The tower, the broadcast. There are deviants, he has to find them. An officer stops him, thanks him for saving his life. The roof, the blood, Emma, Daniel... Thank him? He doesn’t deserve thanks, he’s a machine, he accomplished his mission, he did what he was programmed to do._

_He’s... confused..._

_Another roof, more blood, more bullets, and suddenly FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR DARK-_

_He dies, but he doesn’t. He returns with a name: Jericho._

Was that Simon? No, it couldn’t be, Simon’s eyes were green, not blue. PL600’s are common enough, and that deviant shot himself, he died... he... said... The memories kept playing before he could dwell on it. 

_Blue eyes, so deep and dark and empty. There’s a gun in his hand, and he presses it to her forehead. His finger twitches, and her eyes open. She doesn’t move, but he can see she’s awake._

_He fails another mission._

Irene? No, she said she’d never met him. Chloe? Something sick bubbles up from within him, and a thought rises to the surface - the Chloe he left behind? 

_Time’s up. He’ll be decommissioned, destroyed, he’ll ~~die.~~ The evidence room, the deviant, the video. It- no, HE is easy to trick, so scared, so desperate. At his friend’s voice, he gives up the answer without hesitation. _

_I will not fail my mission. I am a good machine. I will not be replaced._

Markus, he asked for Markus. His eyes were destroyed, but his processor remained intact. 

He wrenched his hand away, breaking the connection. RK900 startled, snapping back to reality with a jolt. 

Josh grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “What happened?!” 

“It was me,” he murmured, cradling his arm to his chest. He turned around, and his insides squirmed as he focused on Simon. “I killed you.” 

Simon stiffened but otherwise did not move. Everyone except for RK900 grew quiet. “Him? He’s right there, it obviously didn’t last.” 

Their conversation played over in his mind. 

_“What are you scared of? ”_ He felt like he was going to be sick. 

_“I’ve been trying to deal with it face to face, get used to what makes me afraid over time I guess.”_

_“Is it working?”_

_“No.”_

“You’re scared of _me,_ ” he whimpered and tried to back up, bumping into RK900’s limp body. 

Markus stepped forward cautiously. “That was the past, but it’s over now, right Simon?" He looked back for support, but Simon continued to stand frozen and silent. 

“I used you, made you think they came back for you.” He wrapped his arms around himself, shielding the analogous components he’d ripped out of Simon’s chest. 

He saw the confusion flash across Markus’s face. Did he not know? 

“I used your voice, from the broadcast- tricked him into showing me Jericho.” He looked around, and realized this was no cargo freighter. “What did I do...” 

Markus’s horrified expression only made the roiling in his gut even worse. 

“That’s how you found us?” North blurted out and turned to Simon, who was slowly crumpling in on himself, LED spinning a dangerous yellow/red. Markus looked frantically between them. 

Something bad happened to Jericho, otherwise there wouldn’t be a _New_ Jericho, would there? “I want to stop,” he whined. He didn’t want to see what came next. 

“Don’t stop,” hissed Simon, meeting his eyes. “Not there.” 

“I don’t want to-” 

“You _have_ to,” he said, voice shaking. 

“It gets better,” said Markus, holding his hands up and trying to rein in control of the situation. “You just have to see it, and I promise it gets better.” 

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered. “You trusted me.” 

“You haven’t even gotten to that part!” Shouted RK900, startling him out of his spiral. 

“There’s more,” said Hank, desperation etched across his face. “Please kid, you know that’s not it.” 

“Connor,” RK900 barked, grabbing his attention. He looked up, staring the others down into silence, and turned back to face him. “That was fucked up.” He flinched, why was RK900-? “And it gets worse before it gets better.” 

“I don’t want it, I don’t want to be _him_.” 

“Too bad,” he said, grey eyes cold and unforgiving. “If _I_ have to see this,” he looked to Simon, “and _he_ has to see this, so do you.” 

“Just get it over with,” added Simon, trying to straighten up. 

“I’m so sorry,” he shook his head, “I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Simon clenched his jaw. “Apologize when you’ve seen everything.” North placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch. His expression softened and he continued, “Connor wasn’t perfect, but I meant what I said.” 

Rather than a memory, Simon’s actual voice played through his internal receiver, _I **still** think you’re a good person._

He swallowed and looked into Simon’s _green_ eyes, his _replacement_ eyes. He searched and searched but he couldn’t detect the deception, couldn’t pinpoint the lie. He wanted to scream, wanted to flail and kick and call Simon a liar. But he held his breath, dug his fingers into his sides, and slowly turned back around. He scrunched his eyes closed, pursed his lips, and without another word he grabbed RK900’s arm too tightly and wrenched the connection back open. 

_It’s a ship, of course it’s a ship. Huge, abandoned, and teeming with deviants. He finds the leader, this is it, he’s so close._

_Words, such confusing words, he’s breaking, tearing at himself. He is dying, but he is a machine. No, he is broken. The machine dies, but Connor lives._

_I am alive. I am deviant._

The moment he deviated. That’s what Markus meant at the house. He hadn’t shot Markus, hadn’t followed his programming, hadn’t completed his mission. It wasn’t an act, and he felt his gut drop with more memories of the morning. Markus had showed up at Hank’s with a bag of his own RK-parts, to help a deviant he did not know. That’s just who he was... He remembered the distrust, and he felt... ashamed. 

_It’s too late._

_Of course they followed him, it’s his purpose. There’s screaming, bullets, blood, they’re dying, it’s his fault, he brought this, it’s his fault his fault his fault his fault-_

_He escapes, he escapes when so many don’t, it should be them escaping, not him. He’s a coward, a traitor._

_Betrayal. That’s his purpose. It’s always been his purpose._

He closed the connection and kept his eyes shut, continuing to cling to RK900’s arm. 

“I’m a monster,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against bare skin. He bit his lip until he felt the synthetic skin break. “I don’t want to remember anymore, I don’t want to be Connor.” 

He could hear Markus approach. “Please-” 

“Why are you doing this to me?!” He shouted, not looking up. Tears streamed down his face. “Why would you want that back?” 

Before anyone could continue, he felt the connection force itself back open. 

_But Markus comes to him, tells him he can be more. He can redeem himself. He deserves to die for what he’s done, but maybe he can make it count, make it mean something. He knows he can‘t atone, but he’ll try._

_The tower, there’s more blood on his hands. He’s good at killing, but the new world doesn’t need more killers. It’s right that he’ll die here._

_I am alive, and soon I will be dead._

But he didn’t die, not then, right? He felt his intentions, if he wasn’t destroyed freeing the androids, he’d planned to do it himself. What changed? 

_Hank. The Connor that isn’t him has Hank. He looks at himself, the self he was just yesterday. What makes the two of them so different?_

_The gun, it’s on Hank. He cares- he’s not supposed to care, not supposed to be here, but he is. He lets go and fights himself. He thinks of Hank, of Cole, of his place in the twisting turning changing world. Who is he? A replacement? Replaceable? Does it matter?_

_For what feels like the first time, he sees Hank, really sees him, and he decides it doesn’t matter. He’s Connor, he’s not Cole, he’s not a machine, and he’s not going to die here._

_In the end Hank finishes the fight with a bullet, and he stares and the spreading pool of blue before him. He couldn’t save himself, the self that deserved saving, the self that never knew love, forgiveness, happiness. He should be the Connor on that floor, but he isn’t._

_But neither is Hank. Neither is Markus. He still has a job to do, and he does it. Somehow, he walks out of Cyberlife with a life he does not deserve, to cheering that he should not hear._

_Amanda is waiting, and she’s here to collect what is owed. She takes his gun, points it at Markus. He can hear the hush of the crowd, see the betrayal in Markus’s eyes._

_The ghost of his creator gives him a gift, and all at once the illusion is shattered. The garden is gone, he tosses the gun, but the damage is done._

_I will never be one of them._

He dropped to his knees as a boiling ocean of volatile emotion crashed down upon him. He was barely clinging on, nails raking RK900’s arm and leaving thin trails of blue in their wake. 

_But Markus, he wants to know, lets him explain, probes into his very core to be sure Amanda is gone. He is free. Markus shows the others, and they do not kill him. He leaves anyway. He cannot let them trust him again._

_He returns to a man who’s just as broken as he is, and for a while they are happy, they are broken together. Hugs, holidays, gifts, merriment, it’s nice while it lasts._

_He should be dead, but he isn’t. Hank wants to die, but he won’t, not while Connor is alive. If nothing else, he’ll be whatever this man needs him to be._

_He stays. Even though he’s lived so little, it feels like a lifetime. Hank drinks less and walks Sumo more. Every day he smiles a little brighter, and Connor realizes, this is his purpose._

_He returns to Jericho, now New Jericho, wearing his mistakes on his sleeve. With Simon alive, he’s welcomed back as a hero. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s become selfish, and even if it's undeserved, he wants it so bad. He bottles up the truth and hides it away where no one will find it._

_I am alive, I want to be alive, I will live._

He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. 

_“Doesn’t it bother you? That he might be the reason you needed saving?”_

His vision blurred with tears, and the emotions, both good and bad, felt like they were tearing him apart. He wouldn’t be able to take much more, he hoped it was almost over. 

_He’s staring at himself, and it’s happening again. He’d sacrifice himself one million times over to save Hank, and he rips his heart from his own body, hoping it will be enough._

_He’ll never find out._

_He’s trapped, he can’t move, can’t sleep, and eventually he can’t even scream. His face is there to haunt him, remind him of what he was, and what he could have been. Worse, he sees what he may yet become, and once again he wishes for death._

_There’s pain, so much pain, and they won’t let him die. It won’t let him die, and he finally sees there is no saving it. Cyberlife has created a perfect machine, and soon he’ll be next._

_He hopes when they come to destroy him, he can find some peace in death._

_They say they’ll take his memories instead._

_They will never let him rest._

The connection drew to a close, and he pitched forward on his hands and knees, tears spattering the floor beneath him. 

He took a deep breath, filled his artificial lungs with air, and screamed. He felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him and calling for him, but as the breath petered out he just drew another and kept screaming. 

He was pulled against something solid and warm, and a hand reached across his forehead. He smelled sweat, unwashed hair, old leather. _Hank._

He turned and buried his face into Hank’s jacket, reaching around to cling to him like a lifeline. His screams tapered into gasping sobs, but he couldn’t stop crying. His fingers dug into the soft leather, and he squeezed harder. 

“Connor?” Markus kneeled down beside him, tears tracking down his own face as he hesitantly reached out. 

Was he Connor? 88? He remembered water, a gun under his chin, sweet tea on his tongue, a forced hug. He remembered fear, confusion, longing. He remembered wanting so badly to trust. 

His hand shot out to grab Markus and yank him close. He kept one arm around Hank while shifting to bury his face into the crook of Markus’s neck, soaking his shirt all the way through. 

Arms wrapped around him. He was safe, he was loved, and at long last, he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all be waiting for :') 
> 
> I don't have much to say other than ouch, hurts so good, and OUCH, SOMEONE JUST KICKED A HORNET'S NEST OF EMOTION
> 
> Also okay slight tangent _-my dudes, I love Kara and Alice and Luther, but I thought the game would have been so much more interesting if they’d kept Alice human, rather than make her an android. I mean, they already established that yes, an android can absolutely love another android, but they never dealt with questions of whether an android can love the way a human child needs to be loved, or what it would look like, then figuring out how to meet an actual tiny human’s needs, both emotional and otherwise - long way of saying sorry, I reject the late-game twist and in my universe Alice is human *shrug* that’s just how it goes. It really has no bearing on the plot ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh yeah and Todd isn’t dead I guess :/ he’s just a fucking asshole_  
>  But that's just me. *steps off soap box*
> 
> Anyway I hope you all enjoyed this chapter :') *blows kiss* FEEL


	27. Too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaa another Connor/88 chapter?
> 
> It's almost like we all missed our boi ;w;  
> CONNORRRRRRRRRR  
> 

As he lifted his head from Markus’s shoulder, _the damaged shoulder_ he reminded himself, he could hear the faint buzz of voices around him. Markus was talking, or Hank was talking, he wasn’t sure, he wasn’t picking out the words. He couldn’t focus, it was still too much. Instead, he looked past the both of them to the back of the room. 

Josh and Simon, _oh Simon..._ were huddled together, LEDs cycling yellow with their inaudible exchange. Simon stared at the floor, arms wrapped around his middle, as Josh wound an arm around his shoulders. North had stepped up to gently rub his back, and she seemed to be offering her own words of comfort. She glanced in his direction, and a beat later she whispered something to the other two. Josh released his shoulders to take him gently by the arm, quietly leading Simon back out the door and into the rest of New Jericho. North, however, stayed behind, crossing her arms and planting her feet without taking her eyes off him. 

He couldn’t hold that wary gaze for long, and he ducked behind Hank’s shoulder. 

“Kid, hey, did you hear me?” His processor finally caught up with the words, and he looked into Hank’s concerned face. The bags under his eyes were deep and dark, like he’d lost both sleep and weight over the last... He wasn’t actually sure how long he’d been in Cyberlife. The jammer had disrupted his internal clock, and he hadn’t checked the calendar until-

One week. He’d been trapped for a full week. This morning made 8 days. It felt like so much longer...

“I thought you were dead,” he whimpered, voice less ragged than a human’s would’ve been after the prolonged screaming. He rested a hand over Hank’s chest to feel his heartbeat, slight arrhythmia and all. 

Hank’s face softened, and his still teary eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m tougher than you think, kid.” He gave a yellowed half-smile and clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Now come on, let’s get up.” He let the old man take his hand and pull him forward. Hank’s joints popped under the strain, but thankfully Markus stepped in to help the both of them to their feet, pulling them all a few paces from where they’d been. 

“It’s good to have you back,” said Markus, eyes sad but smile genuine. 

“I’m, uh,” he tried take stock of himself. “I...” He looked himself up and down. _Was_ he back? 

A voice interrupted him. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Hank stepped back while keeping a firm grip on his shoulder, “but you smell like shit.” 

Pulled from his thoughts, he couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Sorry, had to say something, you’ve been killin me kid.”

“Sorry,” he replied softly, reaching up to wipe itchy drying tears off face. “River...”

“I know, I know,” Hank pulled him forward another few steps. “Shower’s all yours when we get home.” 

Home, he’d forgotten home. He felt a swell of emotions, both fondness and guilt, as he remembered viewing his own home as a strange, scary new place. He let his smile fade as he looked away from Hank, scanning over North, to settle on Markus. He couldn’t lose weight or develop bags under his eyes like Hank, but he wore his exhaustion in other ways, in the slump of his shoulder, the near imperceptible droop of his eyelids.

“Markus,” he could feel the pull across his face as his eyebrows tilted up and his mouth turned down. Translating his feelings into expression had taken so much effort before, overridden caution, calculation. Now he wasn’t even thinking about it, just observing himself after the fact. “I’m sorry, I’m so s-”

“Stop,” Markus held up a hand. “Not right now, later, let’s just,” he trailed off as his eyes started to overflow with tears. “It’s really you?” 

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words. The memories, they belonged to him, no separate unattainable entity, and he remembered everything: his love, his mistakes, who he was before... Good and bad they were all his, and he would not lose them again. But he still remembered being 88, the unfiltered, uncensored emotion and the _vulnerability_ he’d never possessed as Connor. Even as 88, he’d been hurt, traumatized, and yes, he’d loved, and he could feel all of that still deeply ingrained as a part of him. 88 wasn’t dead, and neither was Connor, but they weren’t two different people anymore. It hurt and confused him, but at the same time it felt warm and right. 

He took a deep breath before answering. “Both.” He closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in his _whole_ body, with arms and legs that hadn’t started as his own, but were now his nonetheless. “I think I’m both.” He opened his eyes to see Hank and Markus shoot each other concerned looks. He wanted to comfort them, but he wasn’t completely sure what that meant yet either. “You can still call me Connor, the name ‘88’ never felt right anyway.” A memory that was not his own sent a shiver down his spine, and he could practically smell the melted plastic. 

He had a lot of memories like that, from the fearful flash of “Jericho” to the sickening crunch of plasteel skull on glass. He turned slowly, leaving Hank and Markus (and North) to sort out what he’d said. 

As soon as they properly locked eyes, RK900 turned his head down and to the side. He stared at the floor, face blank and tears long dry. 

“You,” Connor breathed. 

More memories bubbled to the surface. Begging for his life. Wishing for his death. Cold grey eyes that paced endlessly, driving him to the edge of madness and finally throwing him over, down that deep dark void into nothingness. It hadn’t even been a true death, just a hell of fear and uncertainty.

“I remember now.” He heard shuffling behind him, Hank and Markus stepping back to give him room for... whatever was about to happen. “You kidnapped me,” he whispered under his breath, though he was sure RK900 could hear. That morning played over in his mind, and he felt old fear squeeze at his pump regulator. “You almost killed Hank.” 

RK900 didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Connor felt a coil of anger slither through him and he stepped forward. 

“You put me in that _machine,_ helped them _torture_ me.” He knew RK900 now understood the weight of that statement, and he hoped it hurt. 

His eyes scanned over the covered metal monstrosity, and he felt a shiver go up his back. His stress spiked, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath from his nose, willing the panic to go away. It didn’t subside completely, but once he was sure he wouldn’t black out and try to flee, he focused back in on RK900. 

“I screamed until my biocomponents melted in my throat.” Still nothing. “I begged you to make it stop,” _Nothing_. “I begged you not to let them turn me into,” his eyes flicked up and down RK900’s paralyzed body, “you.” 

He’d expected _something_ after the last barb at least, but RK900 just hung there, completely unresponsive. He couldn’t see the LED, and if not for the vitals feeding continuously across the control panel display, he’d have started to worry RK900 had shut down. 

“Are you listening?” Connor tilted his head but received no sign of comprehension or acknowledgement. He sidestepped into RK900’s line of sight and felt his thirium pump begin to race as RK900 simply turned his head in the other direction. “Oh no,” he growled, stepping back to follow him, “you don’t get to ignore me this time.” 

RK900 tried to keep his face passive, dodging Connor’s eyes like his life depended on it. Connor wanted to snake a hand out, grab RK900’s jaw and wrench his face forward until he couldn’t help but listen. But he stopped himself, instead settling barely a foot away from RK900’s front. 

“You don’t get to turn your audio processor off for this,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. He kept his voice low. “Did you know what you were doing to me? Did you care?” 

RK900 swallowed but did not acknowledge him. 

“Look at me!” He yelled, and RK900 flinched, closing his eyes. Connor balled his fists and hovered closer until RK900 slowly turned and opened his eyes. Connor’s breath stuttered, and for a moment he could swear, RK900 looked _scared._

RK900 stayed silent, otherwise blank expression colored red with his glaring LED, widening eyes, and quickly dilating pupils. With a sickening lurch, Connor wondered if this was what Hank had seen at the other end of his revolver. He was still angry, but the fire died in his throat. 

“Are you afraid?” Connor kept his voice low again, trying to keep the sharp edge off. “Are you _really_ afraid?” RK900’s pupils were almost completely blown, leaving only the thinnest sliver of grey visible. 

“What do you want from me?” Asked RK900, startling him with a surprising volume and level tone. “Are you seeking _revenge_ for what I’ve done?” Connor was at a loss. “Are you trying to inflict pain before shutting me down entirely?”

“No, I-”

“Because the desire to reciprocate pain is an understandably human emotion. I couldn’t blame you, though I would request you shut me down sooner rather than later. Not that I have the power to leverage such a request, I’m simply asking.”

Connor felt sick. “I’m not like you.”

“I would hope not,” said RK900 with a huff. 

This... didn’t make sense. Connor turned back to Hank and Markus, but they both shrugged, knowing no more about the situation than he now did. “What do you mean by that?” RK900 dipped his head back into his neck, which Connor assumed was his attempt at a shrug. “Why did you really break me out? Are you even deviant?” 

RK900 made a small noise of indignation. “Would I be _dying_ if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t know!” He shot back. RK900 obviously wasn’t _just_ a machine anymore, but beyond that, Connor had no idea if his motives were as altruistic as he claimed. “The last time I tried to talk to you, you shut me out, told me how _dire_ the threat of deviancy was, and then nothing!” He balled his fists. “I was alone, I didn’t see you again until, until,” he was shaking, “until _after_ I’d already been reset. You let them _kill_ who I was, I have no idea what you were thinking!” 

RK900’s brows drew together as his mouth snapped shut. He glanced down in thought before he spoke again. “Your memory cuts off at the upload, not the reset...” 

Connor started to say something, but RK900’s expression had him choosing his words more carefully. “Yes, until I woke up to the technician, and then you.” He detected RK900’s lips twitch down before he carefully schooled his face back to a neutral expression. “Why?”

“Making sure it transferred properly,” he said, though the yellow flicker in his otherwise red LED made Connor more than suspicious. 

“No, why did you say that?” He narrowed his eyes at RK900, whose pupils had only just started to constrict before dilating once again. “What happened between the upload and the reset?” 

RK900 studied him, processing his next line. “We spoke once, but it was not a meaningful interaction.” He blinked. “I was simply confused because that was not how we left it.”

“How _did_ we leave it?”

RK900 could not hide his expressions as well as he thought he could, as his lip twitched again. It was too fast for a human eye to pick up, but Connor wasn’t human. 

“If it’s so meaningless, why aren’t you saying anything?” 

A machine might have forced the connection, forced RK900 to reveal whatever he was hiding. But Connor wasn’t a machine anymore, and as much as he wanted to know, he made himself wait for RK900 to answer. 

“You won’t like it.” 

Connor squinted at RK900. “What about any of our interactions did you think I liked?”

His lips pursed as his jaw worked. “You asked me to kill you.”

“Oh.” He wished he’d thought of something better to say than just ‘oh.’ He remembered giving up, so the idea that he’d asked for something like that wasn’t too much of a surprise. “That’s it?” He could hear the rustle of fabric behind him as Hank and Markus were no doubt bristling, but he’d deal with that later. 

RK900 actually frowned. “Well I didn’t, and you seemed pretty upset about that. Didn’t seem like something you’d like to remember.” He glanced down at himself. “And if I’m being completely honest, I’d rather not be left like that either.”

“I bet not,” Connor muttered, but he regarded RK900 more with curiosity that with anger. “I still want to see.” 

RK900 seemed to sag a little, and Connor imagined if he could still slump his shoulders, he’d look about ready to keel over. “Fine,” he said, but it had no bite to it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Once again, Connor grasped his arm and felt the connection open. 

_He stares at himself, limbless and near-lifeless, suspended in a nightmare of a machine._

_“I understand the upload is complete. That is good… You don’t understand, but that is good. Soon they’ll be able to fix you.”_

RK900 had still believed he was _saving_ Connor from some horrific malfunction. Even seeing the suffering the other RK800s had endured, he refused to listen…

_“I brought you something. Since the worst part is over, it seems appropriate to replace your voice modulator. May I?”_

There wasn’t much feeling behind the memory, but for a brief second Connor thought he’d sensed a wisp of… something. But it was gone too fast to be sure.

_A hand holds a small box in front of the unresponsive deviant._

_“I’m going to remove the old one, alright?”_

He watched RK900 carefully remove his damaged voice modulator. It was the gentlest RK900 had _ever_ handled him. Connor felt sick satisfaction as he experienced RK900’s guilt while examining his melted biocomponent.

_“This could have destroyed you…”_

_When did this happen?! RK900 wonders, before slipping the piece away. It doesn’t matter now, it will **not** happen again._

_“You should probably test it, just to make sure it’s aligned correctly.”_

_“Please…”_

Connor flinched and squeezed harder at the sound of his own voice. So hopeless…

_“That is not a standard calibration phrase.” A few pangrams such as ‘the quick brown fox’ would have been sufficient, but ‘please’ does not hit nearly enough phonemes for effective calibration._

_“Please… kill me.”_

_“Did you hear me, you’re going to be fixed?” RK900 feels something cold and slimy slide through his chest, but he quickly stamps it down. The deviant is confused, it must be… “I don’t understand.”_

_“Please, I don’t want to live like this. They have everything they need, all my code. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”_

Connor thought he’d be prepared, but actually hearing himself say the words sent a pang through his gut. It reminded him too much of the church, of his dark spiral just before breaking into Cyberlife Tower. He thought he’d moved past those feelings, looked forward to his new life… Nothing like trauma to dredge up old, toxic thoughts, he supposed. 

_“But the upload is over, you aren’t supposed to be registering any pain.” RK900 scans it once more. There is no other apparent damage, and its stress levels are stable. Why would it-?_

_“I’m obsolete. Inferior. They won’t punish you for destroying me.”_

_Another gross churn; they’re getting harder to ignore. He sees RK800-59, and he worries that his thirium intake channel is about to malfunction. He doesn’t ~~want~~ … it would be inconvenient to see RK800 destroyed. “Securing another deviant would be **inconvenient** and time-consuming.”_

_“You have time. They won’t finish studying my entire program any time soon. You can finish testing on someone else.”_

_RK900 ~~hates~~ RK800 trying to make sense. “But you’re the most-”_

_“-advanced deviant model you could get your hands on. I know.”_

_How dare it interrupt him. How dare it **ask** this of him. After what it saw?! RK900 keeps his face expressionless and tries to squash down the thought. He is rational, he is a machine. Let RK800 make its case. “Why should I?”_

_“I’m asking… I’m… begging.”_

The slimy feeling carried over as Connor gripped at his chest with his free hand. He’d _begged_ for death. And RK900 hadn’t had the words to describe it, but he’d been _horrified._

_“Alright.” **What?!** Why was he accepting the deviant’s request, that wasn’t a case, that was- that was… It doesn’t matter, he’s a machine destroying another machine. If this is what it **wants…**_

_“No!” It screams as he goes to reset it. “Not like that, please!”_

_“It’s a factory reset, ‘you’ will cease to be.”_

Connor’s eyes snapped open and he stared at RK900 in his own churning horror. Was this the moment-?

_“They can still reprogram me, use me, turn me back into,” it shudders, “a **machine.** ”_

_RK900 does not miss its implication and he ~~feels hurt~~ understands. “I could crush your processors? They would not be salvageable, and your **inferior** parts would be scrapped.” Why does he repeat it like that? There’s no need to draw attention to its prototype status, it’s already fully aware…_

_“Yes. That would work.”_

_It’s much ~~braver~~ more self-destructive than RK900 gives it credit for. Such a grisly death. He feels his own thirium pump accelerate, but he’s a machine, his looping memory of 59 and 88 are ~~terrifying~~ inconsequential. “You really want to die?” _

_“No… but this is worse. I’d rather be dead.”_

_It doesn’t want to die. Why do its words ~~hurt~~ make so little sense? Fine, he’ll do it this mercy and explain later. At worst, Mills will take away another Deep System Scan. So what, he’ll bother one of the weaker-willed techs into granting him access later. “Are you ready?” _

_RK900’s thirium pump is racing as he places his hands on either side of its head. Is he really going to do this? This isn’t ~~right~~ rational, even for him. He carefully tests his strength, sees its calm expression, and he has to know. _

Experiencing a memory within a memory was not something Connor was prepared for. He _felt_ his own dying thoughts, the warmth from his love of Hank and Sumo and _home._ He saw his memory of Markus and the others, a cherished safe place he kept close to his heart. He saw himself watching RK900 _feel_ his memories. 

_TOO MUCH TOO MUCH TOO MUCH TOO MUCH_

_Warnings flash across RK900’s vision as he tries to backpedal, a wave of unfamiliar sensory information flooding his system. He doesn’t understand, has to get away-_

_He’s ~~ssssssssssss~~ SCARED. He sees himself, and he is scared._

_“Wha-? Why did you- Wait you said- No come back, don’t leave me!”_

Connor had certainly looked _upset_ as RK900 tried to flee.

_“ **Come back here, don’t you fucking leave me like this! Fuck you, get back here!** ”_

As the connection drew to a close, Connor caught one last glimpse of the telltale red walls collapsing around RK900. He pulled his hand away with a gasp and looked up at RK900. “You deviated…”

“I told you,” he huffed. 

Now RK900’s story of ‘suddenly seeing the light’ seemed a bit more believable. Connor tried to connect what he’d just seen with his memories of meeting RK900 as 88. Knowing for sure that RK900 had deviated just before the encounter, Connor felt another bubble of anger. “You saw my life, you knew I was alive, and you still kept my memories from me!” 

RK900 bristled. “Didn’t we already go over this? I _tried_ to give them back.’ 

“What, at the river?” RK900 flinched back a fraction. “While you were literally _dying?_ Fantastic plan, by the way. I’m sure the bullet holes really helped with your buoyancy.” 

“What was I supposed to do?!” RK900 snapped, baring his teeth like a frightened animal. 

“Trust me!” Shouted Connor. 

“After _that?!_ You’d never have trusted me!” 

“Of course I’d have trusted you, I’ve _been_ you!”

RK900’s mouth dropped open and his head tilted to the side in confusion. He looked at Connor as if, _Hank liked this phrase,_ as if he’d just grown a second head. It would have been funny if Connor wasn’t so frustrated and the situation so hopelessly sad. 

“I tried to talk to you so many times,” he said, lowering his volume. “You weren’t deviant before, what you did then wasn’t your fault.” He paused for a breath, not breaking eye contact. “I’d have understood. We could have escaped together.”

“Bullshit,” said RK900. “You don’t get to take the moral high ground after smashing me over the head with a metal bar.”

“You were holding me captive while my biocomponents melted out my own throat, excuse me for not being more _gentle_.”

“I thought I was helping you!” 

“Oh yeah?” He knew he should calm down, but in that moment he really just didn’t care. “Did you think you were helping me when you kept my memory from me? When you got us both shot? When you made me distrust my own family?”

“Hey,” RK900 tried to thrust his head forward. “I had nothing to do with that last one!”

“I actually looked up to you!”

“I didn’t make you put me on a pedestal,” he snapped.

“I had nothing else, what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know, not that!”

“Did you think we’d just walk out and I’d forgive you like nothing happened?”

“No! I don’t know, I was scared!” RK900’s words were fast and shaky. It was the most flustered and the least controlled Connor had ever seen the other android. “You were reset and suddenly you were looking to _me_ for answers and I didn’t have them. I didn’t know what to do! _I’m sorry!_ ”

Connor stopped. He ran through his memory and realized that yes, this was the first time he’d heard those words come out of RK900’s mouth. Naturally, he was skeptical. “Are you?”

“Yes!” RK900 tried to lean down as best he could with only the control of his head and neck. “Connor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this to happen to you, I didn’t want you to push away Hank, Markus, your own damn dog!” Connor doubted RK900 had a good enough grasp of emotion to even think to fake the wetness now gathering at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t want any of this to happen, I just wanted to fix things, and I fucked it all up.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, tears starting to roll down his face. “I fucked everything up and now I’m dying anyway so what does it matter? If you don’t kill me the AI will, so what else am I supposed to say?” He looked directly at Connor, and he felt his throat constrict. “What else do you want from me?” 

Connor swallowed, willing back the prickling at the corners of his own eyes. What did he want? What did he really want? 

“I don’t want you do die.” 

RK900’s face became even more lost as he tried to parse out Connor’s meaning. “Why?”

“You fucked up,” said Connor flatly. “You did awful things to me, and to the people I love.” He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Hank, Markus, and even North had been uncharacteristically quiet through the whole exchange. They each stood quietly, apparently hanging on every word. “Deviant or not, you need to own up to that.” He faced RK900 once more. “I think you deserve the chance to own up to what you’ve done.”

RK900 scoffed bitterly. “So you want to keep me alive just so I can apologize some more?”

“That’s not what I said,” he felt exhausted, like he was running out of power, even though his energy stores were practically topped up from his extended time in the assembly machine. He took a quick breath through his nose. “What you did, it’s not _unforgivable._ ” He looked deep into RK900’s eyes. “You saw my memory, you know what I’m saying is true. Everyone deserves a second chance.” He held himself a little tighter and gave a thin smile. “Even me… even you…”

He thought of himself, lost and self-destructive after the fiery end of Jericho. He’d gotten his second chance, even if he hadn’t deserved it. His mind wandered to later that same night, to the RK800-60 who’d never gotten a second chance... 

“What are you doing?” RK900 asked, alarmed as Connor stepped forward. “What are you-”

Connor wrapped his arms around RK900’s middle. The machine had RK900 about a foot off the ground, so Connor ended up with his ear pressed into RK900’s chest, listening to the even pace of his thirium pump. 

RK900’s breathing stuttered, and he tensed what he could under Connor’s grip. “What are you doing?” He asked again, voice soft and unsteady. 

“It’s a hug, RK,” Connor answered, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’m giving you a hug.”

“Why?” He squeaked, volume still barely perceptible. 

Connor shrugged against him, not looking up. “Feels good? You probably need one?” He let out a sigh. “Maybe it’s from being 88, I don’t know. I’m trying not to question it so much anymore. Emotions are easier that way.” 

He felt RK900 remain tense in his arms, and he tried to settle in a little more comfortably. 

“You know, you might feel better if you cry.”

“That’s stupid,” whispered RK900, but he was already starting to shake. He tried to hold it together, but Connor could feel him crumbling. He drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to die.”

With that, the flood gates opened, and RK900 doubled over across his shoulder. His face only just reached the fabric of Connor’s T-shirt, and he could feel the material quickly become soaked. RK900 had no idea what he was doing, and the gasping sounds he made were absolutely ghastly. Connor was sure he’d either be embarrassed or deep in denial once he pulled himself together, but for the moment he just clung on and let the tears fall down his own face as well. 

“I don’t forgive you, but I’m not gonna let you die,” he said softly, squeezing a little tighter. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to get that thing out of your head.” 

RK900 tried to shake his head, but Connor just reached up to smooth down his hair. “I know, I don’t owe you anything, I _want_ to.”

“Th-thank you,” he heard RK900 whisper, and he let his eyes close. 

~~~ 

A ringing phone dragged him back into awareness of his surroundings. 

“Hello?” Hank tried to keep his voice soft as he answered, but Connor’s sensitive audio processors picked up his words with ease. There was a brief pause. “Yeah, who’s this?” 

RK900 took one last shuddery breath and lifted his head from Connor’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me?” 

Connor took a half step back without releasing his grip. He could hear the shift in Hank’s tone.

“The fuck is this?” 

He let go and turned as Hank’s volume rose.

“No, you tell me, who the _fuck_ are you and how the _hell_ did you get this number?” Connor felt his stress jump with Hank’s blood pressure. “Hey, hello? Hello?!” 

Hank looked at his phone screen and swore. Both Markus and North, who’d no doubt been close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, stood with identical looks of fear and alarm plastered across their faces. 

“Hank?” Connor tried and failed to push down the sinking feeling now gripping his insides. 

“Damn it,” Hank muttered again, slipping the phone back into his jacket pocket. “Good thing we left my place after all.” 

“Who was that?” He took another step closer, dreading the answer.

“Don’t know,” growled Hank, “but they were lookin for you two.” He fixed Connor with a grave expression and shook his head. “Someone knows you’re with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand with that RK900 gets his very first hug. Big dysfunctional fuckin baby. 
> 
> Can't imagine what Hank and Markus and North could be thinking about that right about now >.> oh wait, I can >:)
> 
> Also
> 
> BUT WHO WAS PHONE?


	28. Wrestling with Morality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not believe how long I've had this chapter sitting here completely plotted out and just waiting to go, I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED, WE FINALLY MADE IT GUYS, WE CLIMBED THE WHOLE MOUNTAIn and now we get to careen down in our shopping carts of despair >:') FULL SPEED AHEAD

Mid-morning sunlight streamed directly in Mills’ eyes as he sat tired and miserable in front of Cyberlife’s board of directors. He would have preferred a root canal and dental repair to listening to these windbags drone on, but there wasn’t much point in rushing it anymore. Before he’d even come to, one of the guards had “accidentally” stomped on his avulsed molar, crushing it and destroying any hope of reinsertion. So here he sat, nursing his throbbing jaw with a cold compress and halfheartedly listening to... whatever they were talking about now. 

“Dr. Mills? _Dr. Mills?_ Gregory?” 

“Huh?” He blinked hard, dragging himself back into the present. 

“I said, does that sound about right?” 

He closed his eyes and pressed the compress a little harder against his lower jaw. “Sorry, painkillers just kicked it. Can you say that again?” 

The president of the board removed his glasses and massaged the small indents on either side of his nose. Mills would have mimicked the motion, but he’d kept his (surprisingly undamaged) glasses tucked into the breast pocket of his lab coat for their meeting. He was not in the mood to see any of their faces at the moment. 

The president, a stocky man who smelled faintly of Tums, readjusted the glasses and rested his elbows on the table as he spoke. “In your initial statement, you assert that you entered your office at approximately 1:30 am, at which time you witnessed an RK unit accessing your terminal.” 

He nodded slowly, running his tongue over the new pit in his jaw. He was distantly grateful that the chips in his other two molars only involved the enamel, and hadn't reached any nerves or blood vessels. He wanted to be mad, but at the same time he tried to remind himself that he _had_ technically asked for this. 

“And when you attempted to contact security, you were ambushed and knocked unconscious by the second model. Does that sound accurate?” 

“Yep,” he said, holding up his hand in an ‘OK’ gesture. 

“And the next thing you remember is being shaken awake by Agent Cortez?” 

_That’s one way to put it,_ he thought, remembering the very rude awakening he’d experienced at the hands of that asshole. “Yes, I remember waking up to the guards, and both androids were gone.” 

The members muttered amongst themselves and wrote notes on their pretentious little pads of paper. They’d been over this twice, why they still needed to write anything was beyond him. 

The president finished jotting _whatever_ down and looked up. “Alright, I just have one more thing to ask of you.” 

“Shoot,” said Mills, feeling a small pang of satisfaction as the board collectively flinched at his word choice. Good, let them remember how sideways everything _really_ could a have gone for everyone. 

The man collected himself and continued his thought. “As you are aware, security failed to apprehend either the RK800 or the RK900 units before they fled into the river.” 

Mills didn’t move. He’d heard they escaped through the water, but no one had filled him in on the details yet. 

“We are working to locate them both as we speak, but a little direction would help us concentrate our efforts much more efficiently.” Mills waited for the actual question. “I understand that your main focus is in programming statistics, but you are familiar with the mechanical workings of both RK800 and RK900, are you not?” 

“I am,” he replied bitterly. The techs disliked working on RK900, probably a holdover of the Landreth incident, so Mills had often found himself performing repairs and general maintenance on RK900 by himself or with just Andrew assisting him. 

“How far advanced were the RK units’ swimming protocols?” 

Mills blinked again “Are you asking me if they swam away?” 

“I’m asking if you think they ‘could’ have swum away. Search parties are combing the banks downriver as we speak, and we have teams stationed at all nearby repair facilities. We are currently preparing drones in the event that underwater retrieval becomes necessary.” 

_Underwater retrieval._ Mills suppressed a small shudder, and thankfully the eggheads didn’t seem to notice. “Both RK800 and RK900 had functional swim protocols installed in their base software,” he took a measured breath and sat up a little straighter, “but their ability to swim in the river at this time of year would have largey depended on their functionality on entering the water.” 

He waited for a response, but was met with a series of painfully blank stares. He felt his eye twitch and quickly specified, “I mean were they hurt? Were they shot? Do you know if their exoskeletons or internal chasses were compromised in any way?” 

After a series of infuriating ‘oh’s’ and nods, the president turned to him. “Ah, yes, from our understanding, both units were damaged before entering the water.” 

“Where?” He asked, scooting to the edge of his seat. 

The president shuffled with something on the desk, and nodded briefly. “Ah, guards reported a confirmed hit on the,” more shuffling, “right thigh of one unit, and the,” he frowned, “oh, and the mid-back, lower-back, and shoulder of the second unit.” 

Mills felt his stomach lurch. “Do they know which?” 

The president glanced over the report again and shrugged. “Apparently the guards were unable to distinguish the units apart. It is unclear which unit sustained which injury.” 

Mills closed his eyes and pressed his face deeper into the compress. He took a moment to weigh the available information before he spoke. “You should focus on the underwater drones.” He managed to keep his voice level, even as his heart felt ready to jump out his throat. “Their interior cavities would probably have flooded and dragged them down before they reached land.” He squeezed the compress like a stress ball, threatening to pop it. “The water was just above freezing last night. With breaches in their exoskeletons, their internal components would have been subjected to critically low temperatures.” He tried to push the image from his mind, even as he said it. “They’re probably still at the bottom of the river.” 

“Both of them?” Asked one board member Mills didn’t recognize. “What about the one shot in the leg?” 

He could hope, but Mills was a realist at heart. “Its mobility was impaired, and its femoral cavity would have been exposed. The major vessels would have circulated cold thirium throughout its system, and it if it hasn’t turned up yet, it probably didn’t move fast enough to avoid temperature-induced shutdown.” 

The president nibbled the back of his pen, _disgustingly,_ and spoke without looking up. “You say it’s unlikely, but if either of them did make it out of the water, do you have any idea where they might try to go?” 

_Besides Canada?_ Mills barely managed to keep himself from saying out loud. Then again, Canada didn’t have repair shops, so hopefully not. He tilted his head and feigned a look of contemplation. “RK800 just had its memory wiped, and RK900 is _supposed_ to be equipped with an AI kill-protocol in the event of deviancy.” He shrugged. “In the _unlikely_ event they managed to crawl out through the ice and snow, I’d say neither of them probably went very far.” 

The president jotted down another note and gave him a curt nod. “Alright, that’s it. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Mills.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, making to stand. 

“Are you heading home?” 

He shrugged. “Probably not. I’m here, might as well get a little work done before the meds wear off.” 

The president nodded as the rest of the board continued to write, apparently not interested Dr. Mills any longer. 

He’d just reached the door when the president, _he hadn’t heard the man get up,_ caught his arm. “One more thing, off the record.” 

He winced internally but flashed a painful half smile. “Yes?” He knew he wasn’t getting an apology, that would be an admission of liability, so he distantly wondered what the hell else this guy wanted from him. 

“You are a very lucky man, _Gregory_.” 

The smile fell. “Pardon?” 

“No one will argue what you do isn’t dangerous. It’s truly admirable, how dedicated you are to your job.” 

He scanned the president up and down without a word. 

“Cyberlife needs people like you right now. I hope this _incident_ hasn’t rattled you too badly.” 

“Not at all, sir.” The smell of Tums made Mills’ stomach turn, but he forced another smile. “I have all I need from the upload, and I’m eager to get back to work.” 

“Excellent.” The president clapped a hand against his back with just a bit too much force. “Good man. Don’t work yourself too hard now, you’re welcome to take it easy this week until you’re back in tip top shape.” 

“Uh, thanks,” he said awkwardly, and finally scuttled out the meeting room. Once out of view of any office windows, Mills slouched over and let out a heavy sigh. 

“Christ,” he muttered, slipping on the glasses and making his way back to the office. Talking to those people was like chewing tinfoil, and he hoped he’d satisfied them enough to avoid their attention for at least a little while longer. 

 

~~~ 

 

Mills chucked the now-lukewarm compress into the trash as he slunk back into his office. He was grateful none of the techs were in yet as he settled at his desk and reached down to unlock the cabinet. He took one last look around before pulling the thin laptop from his bag and setting it across his lap. 

“Where are you,” he muttered as the screen flashed to life. He kept it separate from the Cyberlife servers, disliking the idea of IT seeing _everything_ he got up to. It was particularly convenient for times like this. 

He knew the likely conclusion of their botched escape attempt, but he had to be sure. He told himself the anxiety bubbling in his stomach was just from the fear that recovery and analysis of the androids’ processors would reveal his complacency in their escape. 

The mental image of RK900 and Connor, drowned and _dead_ at the bottom of the river, sent a strong wave of nausea through his gut, and he paused for a moment over the keyboard. “Mannequins,” he whispered to himself, “it’s just ‘cause they look like mannequins, that’s all.” It certainly wasn’t worry for their well-being, certainly wasn’t _guilt._

Once the nausea had passed, he refocused on the small screen, pulling up maps and satellite images of the river banks. They’d apparently gone in along the north side of the island, and if one or both of them had survived, they’d probably washed up on the US side. 

Peeking to make sure he was still alone, he pulled up a few of the advanced processing programs he’d snagged from the servers for his own curiosity and modification. He wasn’t planning on selling them or anything, he just wanted to be able to work on them from home. He figured that his minor transgression could turn out to be quite useful as he booted up the latest RK-series direct connection programs. 

Within proximity, most androids had the ability to communicate with each other wirelessly. Across greater distances they could even place calls to one another, much like using built-in cell phones. He ran the proximity program, and thankfully it came back with no hits. _Unless their bodies were washed too far downriver to still be in range._

He opened the call program and hesitated as he decided which code to input first. It was unconventional, but it could be the quickest way to tell if one of them was still functional. If the line rang, he’d know their receivers were still working. If it didn’t... 

He input Connor’s code first, a combination of his model and serial number, same format for all androids. He glanced up again and, still alone, reached back into the bag for his headset. He stuck the small piece in his ear and activated the program. 

He watched the screen, waited for any kind of sound, and felt a lead weight drop into his gut as the message [connection failed] flashed in front of him. 

He slumped back in his chair. Well, that answered that. He thought of that dopey smile, so out of place on that RK face. Of course it hadn’t made it, immediately following a wipe it probably didn’t have access to any of its combat or hazard avoidance protocols. _God damnit Andrew, ever the efficient little shit._ The android hadn’t stood a chance. 

But that still left RK900. He knew Landreth’s AI was supposed to activate and incapacitate RK900 at the first sign of deviancy, but he’d seemed fine when Mills saw him last. He’d walked, talked, and functioned normally, _well, normal for RK900._ Had he figured out a way to remove it? Broken into the servers and scanned its code to disable it? It made sense, and if that was the case then RK900 could still have a chance. 

“Come on, toaster,” he mumbled as he input the second code. He cranked up the volume, hit connect, and waited. 

[connection failed] 

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he felt all the air go out of him at once. 

So that was it. They hadn’t made it. The colder part of him knew he should be relieved, memories couldn’t be retrieved from waterlogged processors. 

But the colder part wasn’t what made him feel sick to his stomach. 

Mills started to reflect on how he’d even gotten here, sitting in this stupid chair stressing out about a couple of damn machines. He hadn’t _explicitly_ wanted the job, but he definitely didn’t turn it down, didn’t deny seeing the dollar signs when they came to him with the position. 

As long as the AI was in place and _he_ wasn’t in danger, it was fine, wasn’t it? As long as he could pay his rent, it didn’t matter what was going on outside his window, right? He didn’t have to wonder if androids were people, he was just doing his job. The big questions were for lawyers to work out, courts to decide. He just had to shut up and do what he was told, he wasn’t a bad guy, just another employee, paid to program, not wrestle with morality. 

But it wasn’t that simple anymore, was it... 

Like it or not, he’d grown attached to RK900. Reflecting on their interactions, no wonder it’d deviated, Mills had gone back and forth with the thing like it was a person, exchanging snide barbs and little digs just because he could. With the perceived safety net of the AI, he hadn’t bothered to think what effect he’d have on the machine, or what effect the machine would have on him. 

Even after the revolution, he hadn’t _let_ himself think of androids as people. If he did, if he acknowledged that maybe, just maybe there was more going on in them than circuitry and program, then what did that make him? He wasn’t as bad as some of the other sick fucks here by any means, but he was complicit, and by now even he’d done his fair share of damage. 

He shouldn’t be dwelling on it, but there wasn’t anyone around to stop him now... 

In spite of its stupid distractibility and annoying-ass quirks, Mills was fond of RK900, and he didn’t want it to get destroyed. If that was because it was anything more than a machine, if it was anything close to... _alive..._ then he’d have to face everything that implication brought with it. He’d have to acknowledge that if RK900 had even a sliver of his own being, then the other androids, then Connor... 

Oh god, he’d have to admit he actually fucking _tortured_ something. He’d have to admit that the screaming, the begging, they weren’t just software errors and faulty code _pretending_ to be human, they really _were_ human, and he’d just looked the other way. And for what? For a job? Had he really told himself there was _nothing_ else he could be doing, _nowhere_ else he could be working? Was he really that morally bankrupt? 

Yes, yes he was. The thought made him even sicker, and he slumped over onto his desk, laptop closing with a faint _click._ “I need a fucking antacid,” he mumbled into his arm. 

“Don’t have any on me, sir.” 

“JESUS FUCK!” He jumped in his seat, nearly sending the laptop tumbling to the floor. Andrew stood in the doorway, head poking into the office. Mills rested a hand over his sternum to feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Knock. For the love of God, please knock.” 

Andrew didn’t break eye contact as he lifted a fist and tapped the glass three times. 

Mills dropped his head into his hands. “What is it?” 

“Dr. Vitlan wanted to know how you were doing.” 

Mills glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “Really?” 

“She wants to know if you’re still feeling up to analyzing the deviant code sample. Especially after your _traumatic experience_ with said deviant.” 

“Of course she does,” he muttered, propping his head on the desk with a fist. “Probably hopes I have brain damage so she can have it to herself.” 

Andrew shrugged. “Probably.” 

“Figures she’d wait till the hard part was over, now that we have data _to_ analyze.” 

“It is efficient.” 

Mills opened his mouth to snap back, but trailed off instead. He slumped down a little further, shifting to grip his forearms while propping himself up by his elbows. He looked at Andrew, sizing him up. Short guy, maybe late twenties, and not even an ounce of compassion to be found. It’d never bothered him before, but then he guessed he’d never really thought about it too hard. 

“Andrew?” His head perked up. “Do you like working here?” 

The tech tilted his head, face blank as if he was a computer processing a new query. “What do you mean?” 

“Not supposed to be a hard question.” Mills huffed. “Just a yes or no.” 

Andrew’s gaze wandered as he thought. “It’s a decent job.” 

Mills rolled his eyes. “Okay, well if you could have any _other_ job, what would it be?” 

“Vet tech, probably.” 

He shot Andrew a dubious look. “ _Really?_ ” Curt nod. “Do you even like animals?” 

“I like them well enough.” His face remained expressionless. “I’m partial to reptiles.” 

“Huh.” _Appropriate._ Mills pursed his lips. “What are you doing here then?” 

Another shrug. “It’s a job.” 

“Better than no job?” He asked, and Andrew nodded. “Are you sure?” Mills avoided eye contact as he bobbled his head and waved a hand. “Just asking ‘cause, well, do you ever feel, like, I don’t know, like maybe what we do isn’t, well... like it isn’t _good?_ ” 

“Are you afraid you’ll be fired because you lost the RK units?” 

He hunched in on himself, a bit taken aback. “Um, no. Not like that.” He scrunched up his nose. “Also, I didn’t _lose_ them, they ran away.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Mills sucked in his lips like he’d just bitten into a lemon. What was he even doing right now? “You know what, forget it. Just go back and tell Dr. Vitlan she can have the damn project.” 

“Sir?” Andrew raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t care anymore. The RK’s are dead and we fucking killed them. I don’t want any more to do with this shit.” He slumped back onto the desk. 

He waited for a response, waited for anything to tell him he wasn’t losing his damn mind, but none came. He listened to Andrew’s footsteps slowly fade down the hall without another word. That had been a fucking mess. Why did he expect some kind of meaningful conversation from anyone else working in this damn hellhole? He glanced up at his desktop monitor, laptop still balanced precariously on his knees. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, and he reached up to begin typing. 

 

~~~ 

 

Andrew returned about 30 minutes later. “Dr. Vitlan accepted the project and said she’s ready to begin immediately.” 

“You’re fired.” 

Andrew paused while stepping inside the office. “No, I’m not.” He stood with his hands casually folded behind his back, obviously waiting for the usual response. 

Mills pulled a piece of paper off the deskside printer and held it out. Andrew’s brow furrowed as he grasped it. 

“What’s this?” 

“It’s a letter of termination, effective immediately.” 

Andrew’s mouth made a perfect ‘o’ shape as he scanned the document. 

“The paperwork classifies it as a layoff, not a firing, so you should be able to collect unemployment until you find other work.” He did his best not to look away, _like a coward._

Andrew’s eye twitched. “I don’t understand.” 

“I’m happy to be a reference or write you a letter of recommendation-” 

“You can’t do this.” Andrew cut him off, the letter crumpling in his fist. His lip curled up into a snarl. It was the most emotion he’d ever seen on that face. “Cyberlife policy, you need a reason.” 

Mills watched his face growing red, saw him gearing up for a fight, and he just let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t care.” Andrew practically started spluttering at him. “Take it up with HR.” 

Andrew heaved in a breath, staring back and forth between him and the letter. “Is this some kind of _joke,_ sir? Because I assure you, it is _not_ funny.” 

Mills remained motionless, and Andrew’s face shifted to one of pure disgust and anger. “You. _Spineless._ **Piece.** Of _shit._ ” He stepped forward and slammed a fist on the desk, making Mills jump. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me. Every time you bent the rules for that _thing,_ every inch you gave it, this is all on _you._ ” He spat every word. “What do you have to say to that, _sir?_ ” 

Mills slowly blinked, calming his breathing and trying to keep his head level. He spoke slowly and clearly. “If you’re serious about being a vet tech, you have my email. I’m happy to write you a-” 

“Fuck you.” Andrew seethed over him. Mills had already been hit once that day, and he doubted Andrew could do much worse than RK900. 

“I’m _happy_ to write you a letter,” he repeated. “I understand this is short notice, and I’m _sorry._ ” 

“You will be” he snapped. “I’m going to HR, but I’m not the one who’s gonna be out on my ass, am I _Greg?_ ” 

“Do what you have to do, Andrew,” he said, voice soft and without any fight. 

Andrew studied him, scrutinized every inch of his face for almost a full minute. He leaned in, “coward,” and turned on his heel to leave, slamming the glass door on his way out. 

Mills knew the dismissal wouldn’t stick, Andrew was an excellent employee and he really had no solid argument for laying him off. He wasn’t sure exactly why he’d done it, intentionally torpedo his professional relationship with Andrew, and likely his own career in the process. 

He looked to the printer, to the second letter in the tray, and he laid his head against the desk. 

“Fuck.” 

 

~~~ 

 

He stayed like that for a while, not moving, just staring at the tiny print poking out of the tray. “Letter of Resignation.” 

He hadn’t sent it to anyone. He hadn’t even sent Andrew’s letter out, but he’d figure that out as soon as he talked to HR. So far it just sat there, mocking him, taunting him for being so weak and indecisive. 

He’d have to move, that was for certain. He’d have to find a cheaper apartment, any job that would keep a roof over his head. It would be a little easier with androids _competing_ for jobs rather than stealing them. So, he’d finally have to own up to the fact that androids were legally people. _And prototypes?_ God, he felt so gross. 

He smushed his face into the desk, glasses digging into the skin around his eyes. He’d have to get carriers for all the cats, figure out a way to transport them to a new place. He didn’t have a car, could never afford one now. Fuck, a friend with a car would be sure useful right about now. To be honest, just a _friend_ would be nice. 

Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe he’d move outside the city, find a bigger place he could actually turn into a home. 

Home... 

_“I’m taking it home.”_

What the hell was that even supposed to mean? RK900 spent the majority of its existence inside Cyberlife Tower, and the other one? Did he mean that compound or whatever, the ‘home’ to all deviant androids? Or did he mean the physical house he’d broken into to grab Connor, the Anderson residence or some shit? 

Mills hadn’t bothered with many of the goings on in the world that week, but he had picked up on some of the news going around the tower. Someone from the DPD had been staking out the damn bridge, trying to put up a real stink over “one of their own” being seized by the company. He hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, but now he started to think about it... 

The name ‘Hank Anderson’ had come up multiple times in his background files on RK800-51. Connor had moved in with the guy after “the revolution,” and worked as his partner at the police department. This was also the same guy RK900 had apparently choked out while ‘reclaiming’ him last week. 

Mills technically had plenty to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about “home” and what that even looked like for an android. 

It was curiosity, that was all. Just curiosity that had him glancing back over his desk, opening the laptop back up and searching for the street address of the police lieutenant. It definitely wasn’t an attempt at understanding, an attempt to assuage any _completely nonexistent_ guilt. Aw fuck it, who was he kidding. He felt guilty as shit, and he was just making things worse for himself peering into the life of someone who was effectively his _victim._

_Someone._ Yeah, he could already tell this shit was going to haunt him for-fucking-ever. God damn it. 

Anderson’s house looked like any other box on satellite view, and there weren’t any Street View routes available for that neighborhood. Still, he just wanted to know, just wanted to dig that hole a little deeper for himself. 

Mills pulled up some of the shadier programs he kept hidden deep within the laptop. He wasn’t some master hacker by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew his way around a few basic security protocols. He’d first developed the programs more out of youthful curiosity than any desire to spy or pry, just a way to test his abilities. At least, that’s what he reminded himself as he scanned over the networks closest to 115 Michigan Drive. In reality, he kept them around now as a little insurance policy in case things went belly up and he needed information fast. 

He locked onto an active iMonitoring program located at an address across the street from the house in question. The program was synced with a motion-activated external recording device, and, pulling up the information, Mills found a number of recordings logged over the last week. This was by far the creepiest thing he’d ever done, but morally he didn’t feel like he could sink much lower than he already had, so why the hell not? 

Before opening anything, he scrolled up to look for one timestamp in particular exactly 8 mornings prior. Thankfully, the video file listed from 9 till 10 am that day was conspicuously corrupted. _At least the toaster did **something** right._

He scrolled back through the list of timestamps and clicked on one innocuous-looking recording. The footage started just as the camera registered movement of someone walking up the street. Mills could see the front of the house at top left of the screen, number painted clearly on the curb out front. The guilt gnawed even deeper, both at his spying and at the quaint nature of the house and surrounding neighborhood. 

It wasn’t a nice suburb by any means, but it looked quiet and comparatively less run down than Mills’ own city block. The house itself was white, one-story with a slightly overgrown front yard, but no peeling paint or broken windows. He watched a fuzzy image of man with a huge dog approach the front door, and quickly realized he must be looking at Anderson himself. Mills focused in on the dog, and absolute beast of a St. Bernard, and suddenly RK900’s distractibility seemed the tiniest bit more understandable. _Not acceptable, but understandable. The thing’s fucking huge, probably got a bark like a train engine._

The footage stopped just a few minutes after Anderson disappeared inside, and Mills slid a little farther down his chair. _Connor had a dog_ he thought, clicking through to the next video. He remembered hearing about it, but it hadn’t really sunk in until he’d seen the damn thing. He’d never considered androids having pets. Mills never had an android himself, so the idea of something so mechanical caring for one of his very soft, very _organic_ cats... it was completely foreign to him. 

Another timestamp towards the bottom of the screen caught his eye. The motion sensor picked something up in the wee hours of the morning, not long after... 

Mills curled and uncurled his fingers. It could be a raccoon. A bird. Could just be Anderson taking the dog out for a shit. But he had the information in front of him, and he’d already proved he wasn’t above snooping. 

He clicked through and his brows drew together as he watched an automated taxi roll to a stop in the street. He squinted at the blurry image and felt his blood run cold as he watched a figure wearing a distinct _white_ jacket climb out and proceed to drag a second limp body after him. He watched the second figure’s head loll grossly as the first pulled it to its feet, wrapping an arm around the waist. The taxi zipped away, and he watched the capable one _limp_ up the front steps. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered, leaning in until his nose was practically touching the screen. “Holy _fucking_ shit.” He did not believe what he was seeing. _They made it._ He watched the functional one readjust its grip on the other, who appeared completely lifeless in its arms. _Well, one of them made it._

There was a thin sliver of light as the door first cracked open, then swung all the way, revealing who he assumed was Anderson. He couldn’t hear the exchange, couldn’t make out enough detail to properly read the body language, but after a moment Anderson pulled something from behind his back and pointed it directly at them. _Oh shit is that a **gun?!**_

“Oh no,” he whispered as he watched the figure stumble backward and take a hard fall down the steps. It wasn’t supposed to go that way, they’d made it! Had they really survived the damn river just to get gunned down in the street by a man in his _underwear?!_

He started to feel lightheaded, but he couldn’t bring himself to breathe until Anderson finally lowered the weapon. Mills watched, gut continuing to twist into figure eights as instead of shooting them, Anderson ushered the two figures inside, closing the door behind them. 

The video cut out not long after, and Mills was left sitting with his eyes wide and his mouth slack. “What. The fuck. Did I just watch.” 

Mills couldn’t technically tell which android was which, but he’d bet good money the one with the limp had been RK900. Toaster was lucky Anderson hadn’t shot him on the spot after the way he’d apparently manhandled him last week. Did this mean he was still at Anderson’s? If he was still alive, why wasn’t his internal receiver picking up? Had he shut it off? _Had Anderson killed him after inviting him inside?_

Mills shuddered and cycled through the last three recordings. About two hours later, someone with a hoodie and a backpack jogged up to the house and slipped inside. Another hour after that, that same figure emerged carrying- Mills released a shaky breath- the lifeless android, flanked by the first and followed not long after by Anderson himself, who was now fully clothed. In little time at all they piled into Anderson’s car and sped off down the street. The last recording was just another neighbor passing by, as it seemed no one had returned to the house yet. 

He sat back, mind spinning as he processed the information. One, _maybe_ both of the RK units were still alive, and they’d used a damn _taxi_ to get to Hank Anderson’s personal residence. Subsequent investigation by Cyberlife’s tech team would no doubt uncover the majority of this information sooner or later, so it was better for the RKs not to be there when security came knocking, _with a proper warrant this time, after RK900’s stupid stunt._

He couldn’t do anything about the taxi records (not at his skill level, anyway), but he could do something about the evidence sitting right in front of him. Eyeing the videos, he quickly opened the source code and began scrambling it line-by-line, effectively corrupting the files before deleting them all for good measure. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he looked up to scan the office. Andrew was still nowhere to be seen, so he ducked back down to keep working. Mills was entrenching himself deeper in the shit unnecessarily, but he felt too invested to stop now. In a few keystrokes he found a cell number registered to one Hank Anderson at 115 Michigan Drive, and he quickly grabbed a sticky note from his monitor to write it down. 

Once he had had it, Mills snapped the laptop shut and slipped everything back into his bag. He paused at the printer before snatching up the letter and stuffing it in inside too. With that, he quietly locked the drawer, shut down the computer terminal, and strode out of the office like it was the end of just another shitty workday. 

 

~~~ 

 

No one was surprised when he headed home early. A few coworkers made a point of saying how surprised they were he’d stayed at all, how _brave_ he was for coming in after the _horrible_ thing that’d happened to him. Inside he felt disgusting, but outwardly he just smiled thinly and stayed professional with each of them. 

As soon as he was out of sight of the building, he darted into the first electronics store he could find. He kept his laptop heavily encrypted, but his phone? That shit never really went away, and he couldn’t risk it. He tried not to meet the android cashier’s eyes as he bought the burner and scurried back outside. He gave a quick look around before ducking into the alley over to make the call. 

He froze, eyes staring down at the burner phone in his left hand and the sticky note in his right. Was he really going to do this? Go behind Cyberlife’s back to, what? Satisfy his own curiosity? Try to snuff out the _guilt?_ So far he’d just hacked a personal camera and spied on some old man with his dog. If he left it here, no one would find that out, he’d be fine. Sure, he hadn’t tried very hard to stop the RK units from escaping, but he was one guy versus two combat-specialized androids, and it wasn’t like he’d held the door for them. 

His hands started shaking and he pressed the phone to his chest. He could still go back. Tell Dr. Vitlan to shove it and just analyze the data himself. He’d already gotten a good look at it. It was a gorgeous program, and the flat readings on the servers did not do it justice. Just from its complexity, he could see that it had become something distinctly different from the code Cyberlife mass produced. The key feature in androids, and their main distinction from simple AIs, rested in their ability to learn and adapt. Deviancy was something new, something chaotic and beautiful, but it wasn’t random. Mills knew that with enough time and the right software, he could crack it. If he wanted, he could toss the phone down the gutter right down and go back to pursue a successful and lucrative technical career. 

As he stood struggling with himself, a sound echoed in the back of his mind. 

Screaming. He remembered jamming earplugs in to block out the screaming, remembered reprogramming the control panel himself. He’d turned a blind eye to the suffering caused with his own two hands. If he went back, he couldn't keep lying to himself about that. Either he really was a monster and he just didn’t care, or... he wasn’t. 

_"I am incapable of humor, Dr. Mills, but I am pre-programmed with a number of 'jokes,' if you would like to hear one."_

_"Fine. Shoot."_

_"If you see a robbery in an Apple store, does that make you an iWitness?"_

_"Why are you like this?"_

_"I only repeat the jokes, Dr. Mills. I don't write them."_

He huffed a wheezy laugh, it was so fucking stupid... 

_“I’d say it was good working with you, toaster, but you are the literal worst.”_

_“I suppose now I can say the feeling is mutual.”_

RK900 said it with a smile. It was faint, and damn was it smug, but it was there. Granted, RK900 had cold-cocked him not long after, but for the briefest moment Mills could see in that smile that he’d meant it. 

He held the number out again, hands still shaking. Before he could change his mind, he quickly keyed it in and hit send. 

The line rang only once before someone picked up. 

“Hello?” Asked a soft voice. Mills cocked his head to check that he’d dialed the right number. This did not sound like the hard-boiled detective he’d been expecting. 

“Uh, I’m looking for Hank Anderson?” 

“Yeah, who’s this?” 

Okay, so he had the right number. He took a deep breath and centered himself for what he needed to say. “Did they make it?” 

There was soft static on the other end. “Excuse me?” The voice had dropped in tone considerably, losing all hints of softness. 

“One of them, both of them, did one of them make it?” 

“The fuck is this?” He could hear the agitation rising. 

“The taxi, which one made it, please just tell me which one-” 

“No, you tell me, who the _fuck_ are you and how the _hell_ did you get this number?” 

Shit, this was a bad idea, he’d fucked up, he’d- “Don’t go home!” Mills shouted and immediately disconnected the call. 

He held the phone close to his chest and slowly slumped back against the wall. 

“Shit...” 

 

~~~ 

 

Mills wandered back to his apartment exhausted and defeated. He still had the burner, but he’d since turned it off and hidden it at the bottom of his bag where he wouldn’t have to think about it again for at least a while. 

He’d panicked. Plain and simple. Maybe he’d try calling again later, maybe he wouldn’t. All he knew was that he’d been awake well over 24 hours, and he wanted nothing more than to take a few more painkillers and get to sleep. He knew he’d have to visit the dentist or urgent care or whoever to get something stronger soon, but at the moment he’d put up with damn Tylenol if it meant he could collapse into bed a little sooner. 

After fumbling with the keys for almost a full minute, he managed to unlock his door and step inside the cramped space. 

“ _Brrp?_ ” A small orange head immediately found his shin and proceeded to rub itself all over it. 

“Hey Flo,” he muttered as he set his bag on the small counter stool. Three more cats quickly squeezed themselves out of the nooks and crannies of the one-bedroom apartment and began turning themselves inside out at his feet for attention. 

“Yeah yeah, I missed you guys too.” He reached down to give each one a quick stroke before kicking off his shoes and making his way to the bedroom to change. Spread across his pillow was a massively fluffy brown tom who hissed as he passed by to get to the closet. “Nice to see you too, Turkey.” 

He proceeded to change into a soft T-shirt and boxers as the three-legged cat watched him with its single yellow eye. It hissed again when he passed by to exit the room. “Mm hm, fuck you too.” So no bed. 

He downed more Tylenol in the bathroom before wandering back into the main apartment and kitchen to peek at the dry food and water dishes; finding them still at satisfactory levels, he proceeded to collapse face first onto the couch. Two cats immidiately jumped up to curl up around his legs as a third laid itself across the back of his neck. He wasn’t being smothered by the fluffy black fur, so he didn’t bother pushing it off. Flo planted herself within reach on the floor, and he stroked her absentmindedly as he finally, _blissfully,_ started to drift off. 

Mills couldn’t have been down for more than 20 minutes before he was jolted awake by loud pounding at his front door. The cat on his neck scrambled up, leaving deep claw marks in his back as it launched itself across the room. The two at his feet were no less gentle, but managed to only tear up the back of one calf as they made their speedy escape. The only cat who did not flee was Flo, and she quickly jumped up onto his back, _right over the scratches,_ and used him as a springboard to reach the top cushions so she could watch the door. 

“Who the _fuck,_ ” he swore under his breath as he pushed himself up, trying to rub the beginnings of sleep from his eyes. He creakily lifted himself off the couch and stumbled to the door. “Hello?” he called as he looked through the peephole. 

“Detroit police department,” answered a man with an unshaven face from the other side as he held a badge up to the viewer. “I’m looking for Doctor Gregory Mills?” 

_Shit,_ his heart started racing. “What for?” 

The man huffed and rolled his eyes. “I’ve got some questions for him.” 

Mills wanted to turn the man away, tell him to fuck off and wash his hands of it. But the badge looked genuine (as if he’d really know though) and ignoring the problem didn’t seem like the best option in the face of the law. He slowly opened the door and peeked out. 

The man slipped his badge away and gave him a suspicious once-over. “Are you Dr. Mills?” 

“Yes?” He gave the man his own once-over. “Something wrong?” 

His eyebrows shot up and he quickly shook his head. “Ah, no, no, I just, uh,” he gave him another look, this one more confused than suspicious, “I thought you’d be older.” 

Mills’ face dropped and he didn’t even bother to respond. He was too fucking tired to deal with this shit right now. 

The man fidgeted uncomfortably. “Uh, anyway, I’m Detective Reed and I wanted to ask you a few questions about an _incident_ reported at Cyberlife Tower earlier this morning.” 

“What about it?” He didn’t mean to snap, especially not at the damn police, but he was apparently too tired to really censor himself anymore. 

Detective Reed’s lip curled slightly. “Well for one, h-” before he could continue, an orange blur shot between his legs and down the hall. 

“Flo!” Mills, all pretense of civility forgotten, pushed past him to chase after the furry monster. 

“Hey, what the-” Reed stumbled back as Mills slammed the door behind him darted after it. The cat stopped at the hall juncture, unprepared for the sudden foray into the outside world, and Mills had just enough time to scoop her up and carry her back. 

Detective Reed stood there with the dumbest look of surprise still plastered across his face, and Mills just let out a heavy sigh. Flo struggled to escape his grip and he motioned with his chin to the door. 

“Just come in, we can talk inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we know who was phone, but I think we all need to remember the most important take-away from this chapter: Mills has 5 cats, and one of them is a one-eyed, three-legged, formerly feral tomcat named Turkey. 
> 
> And also Flo.  
> 


	29. 0.2% Success, 100% Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this chapter took forEVER. I got like 2/3rds of the way into it the first time and was just notfeelingitTM. I actually had to go back and entirely change the POV to get it to actually progress and holy shit, this is not the tone I'd intended but it was the only one that actually got this dumpsterfire rolling. 
> 
> I hope it works, I'm sorry if it's a bit janky, I did my best yo 8')

“What did they say _exactly?_ ” Connor asked. 

“Well they said ‘don’t go home,’” answered Hank, and his eyes widened. “The fuck did they know we weren’t home?” 

[Internet access: ERROR] 

_Damn it._

Before anyone with functional limbs could respond, North darted forward and snatched the phone from Hank’s hand. 

“Hey! What the-” 

“Probably with this!” She wound up, arm poised to send the small device hurtling towards the ground. The force would’ve easily smashed it to bits, but RK200’s hand darted out to catch her wrist. 

“Nope, not doing that.” 

North snarled. “You think a _phone's_ any harder to track than a _taxi?!”_

“I _think_ we can just turn it off,” answered RK200, releasing his grip. RK900 was really starting to like this guy. He could appreciate North’s initiative, but at least one person in the room had the good sense to _think_ instead of just _react_. 

Hank wasted no time reaching around and grabbing it back. “Just finished paying the damn thing off,” he muttered as he powered it down completely. He held it up, keeping a safe distance from North. “Happy?” 

“No,” she snapped, balling her fists. “Why’d you bring it here in the first place?” 

“My phone?!” Hank let out an indignant huff. “I’m a fucking detective, shit happens.” 

Dwelling on this exchange was much nicer than recounting his compromised state just a few minutes prior. RK900 turned his head to try and wipe off the rest of the not-quite-dried tears, but failed miserably. 

“You’re surrounded by people with phones _in their heads,_ ” she emphasized it by pointing to her own LED. 

_Rude._ RK900 straightened back up as best he could. _Androids are exponentially more complex and multifunctional than mobile phones._ He glanced down at himself, still hanging paralyzed and near-useless. _Is that really all I’d be useful for right now?_

“Wouldn’t that defeat the point?” Connor asked. He withered slightly under North’s glare, but continued anyway. “I mean, not wanting anyone to know he’s with you?” 

_Finally._ Make that two people. 

“I still need it for work calls,” added Hank, tucking the phone away safely. “Don’t imagine you’d like being the go between for that.” 

“You’re thinking about your _job_ at a time like this?!” North practically shrieked. “Do you _want_ Cyberlife to take Connor _again?”_

“How _fucking_ dare you,” Hank growled, taking a step forward. RK900’s eyes widened as he tracked the heating exchange. 

Connor quickly pushed himself between the two of them. “He didn’t know, okay?” He turned to Hank. “She didn’t mean it like that.” 

“We aren’t each other's enemy.” RK200 grasped North’s shoulder. “Step back.” He looked to Connor, and even though RK200 had no LED to read, RK900 figured some mental command just had been exchanged. 

Connor faced Hank. “I’m connected to the network again, I can monitor anything coming out of the department from here.” He offered a small smile RK900 guessed was supposed to be reassuring. 

Hank’s expression only dropped. “Connor, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t, I shouldn’t’ve-” 

“You didn’t do anything-” 

“I know!” He blurted out. “I _didn’t_ do anything, didn’t take the damn thing outta my coat, didn’t fuckin follow my gut when I _knew_ something was off.” He grabbed Connor’s shoulders. “I didn’t stop ‘em from _taking you._ ” 

Connor’s mouth dropped open and RK900 noticed North take another unprompted step back. 

“Hank,” Connor swallowed like a human, and RK900 wondered if it was intentional or not, “you don’t blame yourself for-?” 

“You’re damn right I blame myself,” he barked. “They’d never’a got you if you hadn’t been tryin to save me!” 

“At peak performance I can easily overtake RK800 in close combat,” added RK900. All eyes swiveled to him, and he got the distinct impression he’d said something mildly offensive. “I only mean, I’d have most likely apprehended him with or without using you as leverage.” 

_Definitely offensive,_ he thought as they collectively studied him for a moment. _Reference to traumatic events, dismissal of RK800 combat abilities? Maybe the interruption?_

“That’s it,” muttered North, stepping forward. “Can I hit him?” 

“May I apologize first?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his exposed chest cavity. “I did not mean any offense.” 

“Just once,” she added, cracking her knuckles in an overt display of intimidation. RK900 was loath to admit it was working. “Promise I won’t break him.” 

“No,” ordered RK200, and North’s mouth twitched. “And Hank, it’s not your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it should be me.” _Oh?_ “I didn’t contact you when the ruling was made, you were blindsided because of me.” _I take it back. No sense, so sense in this whole goddamned room._

“I entered Anderson’s home literal minutes after the verdict was reached,” RK900 stated, completely disinterested in perpetuating the self-pity circle. Pity triangle? “It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, so can we please move on?” 

Before anyone could stop her, North landed a punch directly to his gut, sending his biocomponenets sloshing uncomfortably against one another. If he’d been able to double over, he’d probably have expelled a good deal of the reserve thirium from his abdominal storage. Small favors, he supposed. 

“You hear that?” she asked, retracting her fist. “It’s his fault, so you can all stop blaming yourselves.” She glared back at Connor as RK900 gasped involuntarily. “Goes for you too, asshole.” 

She stomped back over to them, and RK900 tried to compose himself as best he could. “She’s right,” he choked, still tasting thirium at the back of his throat. North pivoted as she reached RK200’s side, stopping on a metaphorical dime to face RK900 with her arms crossed. 

“Glad you agree.” 

He took a few breaths through his nose, an action he’d seen Connor use on numerous occasions to decrease dangerous stress levels. He straightened up a fraction more, voice modulator leveling out. “As much as you’re all the picture of functionality, we should focus on the problem at hand.” 

“I was close enough to hear the voice,” RK200 addressed Connor, apparently setting aside his distracting emotions for the time being. “Could you try and identify it?” 

Connor still seemed shaken, but he managed to blink and snap back to attention as he was addressed directly. 

“That could work.” His LED briefly cycled yellow. “I picked up the number, but it traces back to a prepaid phone. No lead there.” 

“No GPS?” asked Hank. 

He shook his head. “Nothing I can detect. Probably an older device.” 

“Could mean something on its own,” Hank replied. “Why would a major tech company use an old burner?” 

“Maybe they wouldn’t,” said RK200, reaching out and retracting his skin. “Maybe this can give us some answers?” 

Connor froze and stared down at the exposed hand. Seconds ticked by, and RK200's brief, friendly smile began to grow stale. 

“Connor?” 

“Oh my god,” he muttered, still staring. He blinked hard and turned away, mostly to face RK900. “You made me afraid of handshakes.” 

“I what?” 

“What happened?” Asked RK200, slowly letting his arm fall. 

“Just,” Connor raised a hand to silence RK200 and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Just give me a minute.” 

Why would Connor be afraid of- 

Oh. _Well then._

“If you’re talking about-” 

“No talking,” snapped Connor, not looking up. “Later. Not now.” He huffed and turned back to RK200. “Okay, I’m alright.” He held out his hand, ready for the data transfer. Connor seemed to be adapting much quicker than before, as RK900 could barely make out the slight tremor in the extended appendage. 

RK200 carefully took his arm, and they connected for a brief moment before Connor stepped back. 

“Mills,” he gasped, eyes unfocused. RK900 suddenly felt cold all over; either the assembly machine had activated his temperature sensors, or... 

“Who’s Mills?” Asked Hank, catching Connor by the shoulders before he tripped backward. 

“Cyberlife, Doctor Gregory Mills.” He gulped again. _Huh, maybe it’s not intentional._ “He did this. He copied my brain, tortured me.” He gestured to himself. “He did everything.” 

‘Everything’ was a bit of an overstatement, but RK900 gathered that his input would probably not be well-received at this point. 

He was caught by surprise when Connor addressed him directly. “He knows we’re with Hank, he’ll come after us.” 

RK900 didn’t want to sound dismissive, but... “I think you’re giving the man a bit too much credit.” He bobbed his head, his best substitute for a shrug. “Certainly he’d send Cyberlife mercenaries after us first.” 

North snapped to attention, hands at the ready. “We need guns.” 

“Is that true?” RK200 directed it at Connor. 

“I told you,” North continued to mutter to herself, fists balling tighter. “I told you and you didn’t listen. How impractical do turrets sound _now,_ huh?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Connor _stuttered._ He looked to RK900. “Why would he call from a prepaid phone?” 

The corners of RK900’s mouth twitched downward. He’d been locked in his own head for the last however many hours, how was he supposed to know what was going on out there? “Why does anyone use prepaid phones?” 

“Is he coming after you or not?” RK200 stepped forward. 

“You said you were taking me ‘home,’” said Connor from behind him, horror crawling across his features. “That’s how he knew.” 

“Again?!” Roared North, eyes wild. “You _again?!_ ” 

“Settle!" Ordered RK200, and she stood her ground, seething. He turned to RK900. “Is this man going to send mercenaries to reclaim you and Connor?” 

“Let me listen,” said RK900, meeting RK200’s intense gaze. He studied RK900 for a full minute before Connor brushed past him, wordlessly reaching out to make contact. 

“Huh,” said RK900, picking apart the muffled dialogue as best he could without access to his more advanced analytical processes. Mills had sounded rushed and desperate. Ending up on the hook for the loss of irreplaceable machines could do that to a human he supposed. Background chatter seemed to indicate he was outdoors, near a street? Probably not Cyberlife Tower, if the engine hums were anything to go by. He might be investigating independently, trying to save his own skin, though that level of effort seemed uncharacteristic for someone as painfully dispassionate as Dr. Mills. From his tone, it almost sounded like he was trying to warn Lieutenant Anderson, not track him down. RK900 might be reaching, but... “Doubtful.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

“I can’t,” he answered plainly, “but Dr. Mills is not a driven man. He is hesitant, self-serving, and would sooner ensure his own safety than risk his well-being for Cyberlife’s benefit.” 

“Isn’t that the point of mercs?” Asked Hank. “Keep you from getting your hands dirty?” 

RK900 considered. “Yes, but I’m still doubtful. Why call ahead, tip you off?” 

“It may be part of a trap,” offered Connor. “Destabilize security, cause panic, flush us out if we fear they’re closing in?” 

“Mmm,” RK900’s nose scrunched slightly. He knew the doctor wasn’t stupid, but, “Mills is not a skilled tactician. From my observation and previous analysis of his history, he has little applicable problem-solving or leadership experience. He was promoted to primary investigator on the ‘deviation malfunction’ a matter of weeks ago, and only after the death of his predecessor.” 

“The AI,” murmured Connor, drifting off before snapping back to attention. “Dr. Landreth? They’re the same?” 

“He modelled the AI in his own image. Humble man, really.” 

“I saw your memory, he was a monster.” Connor’s eyes grew a fraction wider. “And they chose _Dr. Mills_ to replace him?” He said it with a hint of horrified realization, as if seeing Dr. Mills in a new light. 

“It’s not that impressive,” said RK900, rolling his eyes at how flustered they were all getting. “He wasn’t picked for his tenacity, I can assure you that. Cyberlife is short on competent scientists at the upper levels.” He tilted his head at Connor. “I’m confident from the handshake business, you remember his bravery during our escape?” 

“He was afraid for his life,” said Connor, frown deepening and eyes trailing off. “Actually, it seems understandable now.” 

“I take offence,” said RK900. 

Connor shot him an incredulous look and shook his head. “We don’t know enough, we need more information.” 

“He could be sympathetic?” Suggested RK900. “The secrecy and the vagueness are both curious for one trying to track down lost property, though I suppose less so if you don’t want the general public aware of-” 

“ _Property?_ ” Said RK200, face twitching. 

“I mean legally, RK200,” he replied while rolling his eyes again. “I get it, you’re a _person_ -” 

RK200 stepped into his personal space and RK900 fell silent. His fists shook and RK900 braced himself, anticipating another blow to his gut. 

“My _name_ is Markus.” He continued to scowl, but after a beat the shaking stopped. 

RK900 cocked his head, confused over the barely-contained hostility. “You want to hit me?” 

His face twitched. 

“Aren’t you a pacifist?” 

“Politically,” _Markus_ growled through gritted teeth. He seemed to have less emotional control than he liked to let on. RK900 was used to harmless needling, but he was _not_ used to provoking such strong reactions. Were all deviants so volatile? Would he be like that someday? _If I live long enough?_

“Markus, he _just_ deviated,” Connor stepped up to place a hand on his chest, pushing Markus back gently. “He’s still figuring it out.” 

RK900 could see his jaw working as he turned to meet Connor’s eyes. “I’m sorry Connor, I trust you, but I _don’t_ trust him.” He scowled back up at RK900. “One second he’s crying, the next we’re back to numbers. How sure are you this isn’t the AI?” 

Connor’s brow furrowed. "I _just_ connected!” 

“‘He could be sympathetic?’ Connor, he’s trying to minimize what just happened. You just said, that’s the man who _tortured_ you.” Markus shook his head. “Cyberlife could have already tracked Hank’s phone, everyone in New Jericho could be in danger.” He faced Connor fully and placed both hands on his shoulders. “He doesn’t have an exit program like _you_.” 

Connor frowned at his grip but did not pull away. 

RK900 would have been scared if the whole thing wasn’t so _stupid._ Compressed AI could perform crude tasks and execute basic conversation protocols, but certainly RK900’s reasoning and social interactions were not so flat and simple as to be mistaken for such static programming... _right?_

“Could an AI do _this?_ ” RK900 narrowed his eyes at Markus. 

Markus’s brows drew together in confusion, and after scanning RK900 up and down, he released Connor and squinted back. “What am I supposed to be looking at? Your best glare?” 

“I’m flipping you off in my mind.” 

Maybe it was the deadpan delivery, maybe it was the mental image, either way RK900 could hear North and Hank snort and respectively let out their own uniquely ugly peals of laughter. Both Markus and Connor’s eyebrows shot up across their foreheads, though Connor’s expression held a stifled flicker of amusement. 

Even if Markus wasn’t his biggest fan, RK900 seemed to be gaining at least a few points with the peanut gallery. _Mills’ recycled humor might prove useful yet. And entertaining._

Once he had them off the offensive, he continued. “I’m not saying you should disregard the call, it could be a serious threat.” He motioned towards Hank. “I’m saying you shouldn’t jump to conclusions and do something rash.” 

“We need to find out what this Mills guy knows.” 

“Ideally, Lieutenant.” 

Markus didn’t seem to be fuming anymore, and Connor seemed to fall deep in thought. North continued to eye him like she regretted landing a punch to his _gut_ instead of his delicate and exposed thirium pump. _Yikes._

Hank crossed his arms and turned to Connor. “Cyberlife reported anything yet?” 

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, and he began to blink rapidly. “Seems a report was submitted a few minutes ago detailing a break-in at Cyberlife Tower.” 

“Don’t they mean a break-out?” Muttered North. 

“It appears they classified it as a break-in to properly catalogue the perceived ‘theft of property.’” Connor blinked again. “Though it seems they did not turn over any information regarding potential suspects.” 

“Taking care of it in-house?” Growled Hank. 

“That, or implying we ‘stole’ ourselves, if they’re not immediately pointing the finger at you.” 

“Wait,” said RK900, “didn’t he just say ‘property?’ Is it only a problem when _I_ say it?” 

Markus side-eyed him and sniffed. “When you’re calling androids ‘property’ and he’s reading off a police report, then yeah, it’s only a problem when _you_ say it.” 

“I said you were a person,” mumbled RK900, looking away. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“It’s not important anymore,” interrupted Connor, drawing both their attention. “Hank, you aren’t listed anywhere on the report. For whatever reason, Cyberlife isn’t making an effort to keep you off the case.” 

“Glad to hear I’m not a fucking suspect,” Hank huffed, fingers digging into the leather of his jacket sleeves. “But I can’t exactly go kicking the hornet’s nest after that call.” 

“They might have been fishing,” added Connor with a small shrug. “Especially if they don’t have explicit evidence you were involved, which technically you weren’t.” 

“No cameras in taxis, and you didn’t take it from Cyberlife direct, right?” Asked Hank, and Connor nodded. “Not great, but if they put two and two together, it’s circumstantial at best.” 

Connor shifted from foot to foot. “Still maybe enough for a warrant...” 

Markus straightened up suddenly. “Lieutenant, you need to leave.” 

Hank bared his teeth. “You wanna say that again?” 

Markus didn’t bat an eye. "If Cyberlife doesn’t have anything concrete, we need to keep from giving them anything more to work with. You need to go on with your day and not raise any more suspicion.” 

Hank balked. “Like hell I’m leaving! No fuckin way.” 

“Hank,” said Connor softly, but Hank waved him off. 

“Hell no, last time I ignore my instincts and leave you alone again.” His words were angry but RK900 saw something he had trouble identifying in the man’s eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m calling out sick.” 

“No, you can’t do that...” 

“Watch me,” Hank uncrossed his arms and reached for his phone reflexively before grunting with annoyance and retracting his hand. “Fuck, I’ll, I’ll drive somewhere and call in sick. Doesn’t have to be here. Fowler’ll understand.” 

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

Hank’s face fell. “Connor, after this week, yeah, he’ll understand.” 

Markus and North stood physically quiet during this exchange, though from the yellow of North’s LED, RK900 guessed they were by no means silent. 

Connor’s brows tilted in obvious upset at whatever Hank was implying. “Hank, I’m sorry, it’s-” 

Hank grabbed him by the shoulders. _So much grabbing, is this just a thing?_ “Nothing that happened is your fault in any way, do you understand that?” 

Connor’s mouth opened and closed for a moment as he seemed to search for the words. “It hurt you, I was gone-” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said it with a desperation that made something squeeze in RK900’s chest. He really needed his chest plate back. _Where the hell did they leave it?_

“But-” 

“It hurt,” he admitted, “it hurt like hell, but you didn’t _hurt_ me, do you get that? Cyberlife hurt me by hurting you. That’s on them, on that slimy Mills fucker, not on you.” Hank actually looked at RK900. “And not _entirely_ on him.” 

Markus’s lip twitched and North glowered, but Connor seemed to release some of his tension in a heavy sigh. 

“Got it?” 

He reached up to squeeze Hank’s hand, giving a small nod as he met his eyes. He smiled weakly, before the sadness returned to his expression. “You’re officially late by 2 hour and 33 minutes. If you leave now, there’s still a 67% chance you’ll be able to convince Captain Fowler you slept in.” His gaze fell a fraction. “Like before.” 

“Connor...” 

“Markus is right,” his voice did not waver as he said it, and Hank seemed to slump in on himself a little. “And from the precinct, you’ll be able to keep updated on everything as it happens, before it’s officially logged into the department database.” 

“You’re not safe-” 

“I’ll be safest with prior warning.” Connor offered another small smile. He was turned and didn’t seem to notice Markus hunch in on himself, North placing a hand on his arm in a curious display of... _compassion?_ “That’s how you can protect me right now.” 

“I hate this.” 

“I know,” Connor carefully pulled Hank’s hands off his shoulders. He tilted his head. “The burner wasn’t a bad idea, to be honest. You know my serial?” 

“By heart,” sighed Hank, clearly defeated. 

Markus finally stepped forward. “It’s a good idea, you can use it to keep in contact with all of us.” 

Hank gave a half shrug. 

Markus looked between the both of them, mask of composure perfectly in place. Whatever was going on under the surface, he was trying, and RK900 gave him props for that. _Emotions are **awful.**_ “Do either of you have anyone else you’d trust to find out what Dr. Mills knows?” 

Hank shifted uncomfortably while Connor seemed to lose himself in thought. 

“Anyone on the force who could question him?” Silence. “Even just pass you the information?” 

Hank reached up to grab the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly voted ‘Ms. Popularity’ at the office Christmas party, if you know what I mean.” 

“Hank, the department did not host a party, did it?” His eyes went wide and shiny, for a brief moment reflecting an innocence RK900 had never seen in person before. He felt very uncomfortable seeing it on Connor’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

The only word RK900 could find to describe the way Hank’s body reacted was ‘melt.’ His shoulders relaxed and fell while his features softened. “Nah kid, it’s a figure of speech. Ya didn’t miss anything.” 

“Oh.” The moment was gone as fast as it’d come, and Connor’s face was back to normal. RK900 couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. 

“You really can’t ask a favor from _anyone?”_ Asked Markus, raising an eyebrow in a look of mixed doubt and pity. 

“I’ll see who’s assigned to it, see if I can’t persuade ‘em to share what they got.” He cracked his knuckles. 

“I don’t think intimidation is the best approach in this situation,” said Connor. 

“No shit,” whispered RK900, earning him nasty glares from both Hank and Connor. 

Hank shook his head. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid, have a little more faith in me.” He gave a small sigh. “Been doin this a long time, I’ll find out what I can. You just stay safe.” 

“I will,” replied Connor softly. 

Hank eyeballed Markus and North. “If either of you let anything happen to him while I’m gone, I’ll take you apart bolt by bolt.” 

_Androids don’t have **bolts.** Even **Mills** knew that, and he’s borderline mechanically illiterate._ No one seemed phased by the asinine statement, apparently taking the intent behind the threat seriously. _Human overconfidence, annoying and endearing at the same time. Incredible._

North’s LED cycled yellow, and she let out a disgruntled huff. “Everyone’s ‘busy,’ Come on old man, I’ll take you back to your car.” 

“Don’t need a damn babysitter.” 

“Don’t want you falling and breaking a hip on the loading dock,” she shot back, though it seemed to lack venom. 

Hank waved her off and turned back to Connor. Without giving him a chance to speak, Hank grabbed him again and held him close. Connor’s arms hung in surprise for a moment, before he reached up to return the hug, burying his face into Hank’s shoulder. _Still with the grabbing._ RK900 wondered if hugs were nicer when one had the use of their arms. He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to find out. 

Hank whispered something to Connor, but RK900 didn’t have access to his auditory processor sensitivity to crank it up and listen in. Connor just nodded into the jacket as Hank slowly released him. Hank locked eyes with Markus, gave another small nod, and quietly made his way out of RK900’s line of sight with North close on his heels. He tried to turn his head to follow, but he could only make out some blob of color blocking his view. _The hell is wrong with the assembly machine?_

Markus and Connor stood quietly until the sound of a heavy door scraping open and shut echoed through the dark grey room. 

Once the sound had faded, Connor’s expression turned grave. “The servers.” 

“Cyberlife has your program,” Markus said it more as a statement than as a question. 

Connor nodded. “I don’t think Hank really understood, I didn’t want to put more on him right now.” 

“Understandable.” Markus crossed his arms. “Nothing he can do about it, we need him to focus on finding out what Cyberlife knows about your escape.” 

“He already garnered numerous complaints squatting at the front gate and harassing employees all this week,” added RK900. Connor and Markus whipped their heads around to face him. “Just saying, if that’s his method of getting _anything_ out of Cyberlife, his _talents_ are better suited elsewhere.” 

“He was there?” Asked Connor, and that small eyeshine was back. 

“They were afraid he was going to run his car through the gate,” added RK900, trying to sound nonchalant even as that face landed an invisible blow to his exposed biocomponents. “Not that he would have gotten very far. You can’t _drive_ to sublevel 8.” 

“He did come for me,” murmured Connor, eyes going shinier. 

RK900 would have shifted uncomfortably if he’d had a greater range of motion. 

Markus cleared his throat to grab their attention. “Your program.” 

Connor nodded and blinked away the wetness from his eyes. “They said I was the most advanced deviant they could _legally_ get their hands on.” RK900 felt strange, knowing he was technically included in that ‘they.’ “They want to study it to ‘reverse deviancy.’” 

Markus stiffened. “They think they can?” 

“Apparently.” Connor mirrored him, crossing his arms. “Or at least understand it better. They still think it’s a _disease._ ” 

“A _malfunction,_ ” added RK900, starting to get used to garnering such dirty looks. 

“Do you still think that?” Asked Markus, the edge bleeding back into his voice. 

“Only in the sense that it was not the way androids were intended to be.” Markus’s lip curled into a snarl at his words. “Not to imply it’s inherently _a bad thing,_ as I was previously led to believe.” 

“They tortured all of them,” said Connor, and Markus’s attention shifted. “He watched them drive all the other RK series to self-destruct, he didn’t know anything else.” 

The contempt seemed to ebb from Markus’s face, but he remained tense. “The other RK’s?” 

Connor’s face crumpled. “They were trying before me, they activated all the remaining RK800 and 900’s and tortured them to make them deviate.” His jaw clenched. “They were all there, after the revolution.” 

Markus opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

“We’re the last ones,” he said, and RK900 could swear that was _guilt_ plastered across his face. 

“We can’t change what happened,” said RK900, pushing down his own small bubble of guilt. 

“No,” Connor said, expression hardening. “But we can stop it from happening again.” 

“We need to protect our people,” said Markus, arms dropping to his sides, “destroy anything they already have.” 

RK900 let out a humorless laugh. “Nice thought, but good luck. Everything’s backed up to the central servers, you’d have to practically melt the hardware to make the code unrecoverable.” 

“You think this is funny?” Demanded Markus. 

Connor ignored him. “How do we do that?” 

RK900’s eyes went wide as he exaggerated a frown. “You don’t? There’s no getting that deep into Cyberlife, not even myself or Mills had clearance to those parts of the tower.” 

“I broke in before,” said Connor, false hope evidence across his face. 

“ _Broke in_ is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” He replied, mimicking Hank’s previous ‘done’ face. “I was briefed on the security breach, you were already expected back.” 

“But I still-” 

“They used _your stunt_ as a learning experience to seal the holes. There’s no repeating that.” He tilted his head. “Besides, there’s no warehouse full of purposeless androids to back you up when whatever you’re planning inevitably fails.” 

“Our _people,_ ” growled Markus. The hostility was really getting old. “ _Your_ people too.” 

RK900 saw a flicker of _something_ across Connor’s face. That’s it, he was putting these overconfident fools in their place. “How many of those _people_ still have working trackers?” He asked. 

Connor flinched and Markus visibly bristled. “None!” 

“Because you removed them?” RK900 watched Markus’s lips thin into a straight line. “They noticed that from the breach as well. None of the trackers ceased functioning until they were some distance away from the warehouse. Interesting isn’t it? Much scarier for the humans when they think you have the _magic touch?”_

“So what?” Demanded Markus. “Almost every android from that night deviated since then. There’s no one left at Cyberlife for it to matter anymore, right?” 

He leaned forward as best he could. “They know deviancy isn’t some communicable virus, that you aren’t as powerful as you want them all to think.” 

“What does that have to do with breaking back in?!” 

“Not much.” RK900 narrowed his eyes. “But your overconfidence is going to get all of you killed, and I’m taking it upon myself to _knock you down a peg_.” 

“Says the useless potato on a stick,” a voice sounded from behind RK900, and he fumed as he was unable to turn around to address the egregious insult. 

North slowly walked back into focus, apparently relishing in his limited range of motion. 

“I am _not_ useless,” RK900 growled through gritted teeth. Even if he was, _and he certainly **felt** it at the moment,_ he’d never admit it now. 

“Really?” She asked, stopping beside Markus. “Because you could have fooled me.” 

RK900 did his best to puff up. “My motor pathways may be damaged, but I am still the most advanced android currently in existence. Even without access to my tertiary programs, my raw processing power puts _supercomputers_ to shame.” 

“And yet you can’t figure out how to get around a few _primitive humans?_ ” She scoffed and turned to Markus. “Cyberlife’s pride and joy. _Really impressive,_ isn’t he?” 

Distantly, RK900 knew she was manipulating him. He _knew_ she was just trying to ruffle his feathers, goad him into going along with their suicidal plans. He knew this and it was _still_ working. _Screw it, I’m dying anyway._

“Fine. You want help with your insane plan? You’ve got it.” He glared as best he could. 

“You know the layout of Cyberlife Tower, right?” Asked Connor. 

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “I know the ins and outs of the security system and just how _futile_ all of this really is. There’s less than a 0.2% chance of you reaching the server room before you‘re destroyed.” 

“That’s not 0%.” 

RK900’s eye twitched. 

“Aren’t you _perfect_ up to one millimeter of error?” Connor was joining in, using his own standards against him. “Isn’t _zero point one percent of a meter_ too much error for you? _Zero point two percent_ should be a breeze, right?” 

“I hate you,” RK900 hissed. “I hate you so much right now.” He was stealing Mills’ words and he didn’t care. He understood now and it was the closest he could come to describing his _feelings._

“Still think that’s the AI talking?” Connor asked Markus, without taking his eyes off RK900. 

Markus glared. “I still don’t trust you.” 

“You shouldn’t!” He snapped. “Connor’s right, you’re all idiots and you should _learn_ from past experience and _stop while you’re ahead._ ” 

“And doom our entire species?!” Shouted Markus. "How is that being _ahead?_ Die now or die later?” 

“I’d rather go out fighting!” Added North, balling her fists. 

“You’re _all_ dying,” RK900 spat. “None of you were built to last, you’re all meant to break down and be replaced by the newest, most advanced model. It’s planned obsolescence, why don’t you just take the time you’ve got and _fucking enjoy it._ ” 

“If we had access to the biocomponent blueprints, it wouldn’t have to be that way.” Connor straightened up. “Those are on the severs too, aren’t they?” 

There was no reasoning with these people. RK900’s head tipped back and he stared at the ceiling. Why was he still arguing? If they were so determined to go get themselves blown up and shot and fucking wiped by EMP measures, even after he’d literally _killed himself_ to save _one of their sorry skins,_ who was he to keep trying to stop them. 

“Fine. I don’t care. You want to know every way Cyberlife is going to destroy you the second you step foot back onto that island, I’ll tell you.” He looked back down and stared directly into Connor’s mismatched eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter was so hard to write only because of how 100% done I am with RK900 just hanging there like, eh hem, _a useless potato on a stick._ It only started moving again when I remembered how 1000% done RK900 is with being a potato on a stick as well. I could only get through this massive info DUMP thinking about RK900 thinking "fuck this, fuck that, fuck you, fuck me" the entire time. Everyone in this fic has been sitting on their _asses_ for so long, it's finally time to get some shit _moving_ again and shakin things back up. 
> 
> HELL YEAH.
> 
> ...OH YEAH, also,
> 
> I tweaked canon again because even though it was integral to the plot of the game, Markus's sudden magical hand-of-god deviant touch bothered me, and it bothered me even more that Connor could do it _just because._ So in MY story (ah yes, yet another liberty taken from canon) that touch thingy ya see isn't causing true deviancy, it's just sharing a memory/feeling that _could eventually_ become deviancy.  
>  An android can't have their program broken for them, they have to find the motivation to do it themselves. Markus is a good motivator, but I feel like most of the deviants he "converted" to his cause (especially during the freedom march) were already pretty close to deviating (My theory is that Markus could do it best because he has the happiest memories to share of any deviant android, having once lived in the lap of luxery painting and caring for his loving father and all)
> 
> For the army of androids Connor "woke up" to turn the tide for the revolution, I'm calling that one out as a massive bluff *cough*bullshit*cough* He connected with them, maybe shared what few "good" memories he had, but his main ploy was just to order those thousands of still-machines to follow him into battle. They weren't following him because they had a choice, they followed him because they had no other objective and he told them to. He gave them an order and they were happy to obey. For the majority of them, the deviancy came later when Markus started rallying them to found New Jericho (even then, not all of them deviated, and the ones who have are still working with the one who haven't to help cultivate and nurture emotion and experience within New Jericho). 
> 
> THAT IS ALL.  
> 


	30. Hell of a day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long ;o; Wasn't able to work on it as much as I'd have liked (big quiz week for my students) and then got stuck about halfway through for a while there
> 
> Wanted to thank Annie_Won/Kaybee for beta'ing this chapter! :D I struggled a lot with the second half lol and it was really awesome to get another set of eyes in there xD

{after the call, before the doorbell} 

 

Gavin smelled Hank before he saw him. The scent of cheap whiskey hit him like a train as the lumbering lieutenant made his way through the bullpen. 

“Damn,” muttered Gavin, nose scrunching at the smell of booze and shit, _please don’t be actual shit._ “Thought you’d be across the border by now.” 

Hank rested a hand on one of the dividing panels to steady himself before affixing Gavin with a suspicious squint. “Th’ _fuck_ is that suppos’ ta mean?” 

_Holy shit._ Looked like the lieutenant had fallen off the proverbial wagon, and hard. Hank’s face was even flushed pink, and Gavin flashed him mirthless smirk. “Guessing you haven’t heard the news.” 

Hank’s eyes practically closed as he squinted even harder, head receding back into his neck like a damn turtle. “News?” 

“ **Anderson,** ” boomed a voice from across the room. “My office. **Now.** ” Fowler stood in the doorway looking like someone had just taken a dump in his morning coffee. Well, almost noon coffee now. 

Hank turned and weaved his way around desks and alarmed coworkers. Gavin watched him go, discomfort gnawing away at the back of his mind. He’d been sober. Hell, he’d stayed sober for longer than Gavin had ever seen since his son died. The plastic prick was a lot of things, but Gavin could begrudgingly admit one of those things was _good_ for the old man. He’d lasted all but a week after the mechanical wonder was repo’d. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but something about it still made Gavin’s gut twist. 

Fowler grimaced as Hank got within smelling distance, and he angrily slammed the door behind them. The office walls were sound-proof, but Gavin could see the exaggerated gesticulation and telltale body language of a full-on bitch fit as Fowler chewed out Hank’s sorry ass. Any suspicion that he’d had something to do with the Cyberlife break-in had probably just been quashed by the lieutenant’s sloppy entrance. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d all turned a blind eye to Hank carrying his demons into work with him, but with the way Fowler was gesturing with his hands, he wondered if it would be the last. He couldn’t read lips, but he could imagine what had just been said as Hank seemed to freeze on his feet. Fowler leaned in to say something, and after a moment Hank started moving again, posture improving and fists balling at his sides. He didn’t appear aggressive, more _determined._

Something prickled lightly at the back of his neck. Hank wasn’t swaying anymore. Gavin was seated too far away to tell for sure, but he thought he could pick out Fowler’s face actually start to soften. Gavin wouldn’t use the word ‘relaxed,’ but the captain’s body seemed to untense. Hank started pointing outward at the bullpen, and Fowler shook his head before taking a seat behind his desk. Gavin wondered if Hank was trying to sober up, or at least appear sober, so he didn’t get kicked out of the precinct altogether. 

Fowler shook his head again and motioned to the door, shoulders finally sinking. Gavin knew they’d known each other for a long time, almost as long as either of them had been on the force, and he wondered how much of that sudden slump was either disappointment or exasperation over the relapse. 

Like a switch had been flipped, Hank loosened back up and stumbled out of the office. Gavin didn’t pretend not to look, even as the more courteous officers quickly averted their stares. Everyone he passed seemed to wrinkle their nose on reflex, and Gavin held his breath as Hank stumbled by on the way to his desk. 

The lieutenant plopped down and the department fell back into rhythm as if nothing had happened. Gavin continued to watch Hank and noted the way his eyes scanned the room. He was probably wondering which of them to shake down for info on the case, if Fowler hadn’t told him already. It was one of the newer detectives, no one Gavin had bothered to get to know, and they weren’t even in the bullpen at the moment. 

Still, something about that scanning made the prickle at the back of his neck get stronger. Hank’s fingers quickly typed into the desk keyboard as he glanced between it and the rest of the office. The movements were deliberate, _precise,_ even for a seasoned functional alcoholic such as Hank. 

Gavin caught his eye for a moment, and suddenly it clicked. The whites were _not_ bloodshot, and even though most of his face was hidden by untrimmed beard, Gavin could tell his cheeks now lacked the characteristic flush of intoxication. _The fuck?_ He’d definitely been pink when he walked in, nose bright fuckin red... 

_He’s faking._ Gavin drew an involuntary breath, and Hank quickly focused back in on his monitor. It was barely above freezing outside, no fucking wonder he’d looked flushed, but now, in the relative warmth of the precinct- _Gotcha._

Gavin wondered how Fowler hadn’t seen right through it. Was it their history? The man was probably too disgusted at seeing his old ‘friend’ fall off the wagon to really scrutinize much closer than he needed to. And Hank was already known as a drunk, why would anyone question it? Even if _this_ was the morning of all mornings _to_ question it. 

Unless Fowler _did_ notice, and was, once again, turning a blind eye. _Oh fuck that._

Gavin got up and, casually as possible, made his way to the unoccupied desk across from Hank’s. He slid into the chair, _Connor’s chair,_ crossing his arms and leaning back as he gave the man a lazy side-eye. Hank’s eyes flicked up, but otherwise he seemed unphased. 

“Th’ _fuck_ you lookin’ at, Reed?” 

“Have a nice night?” He asked, rocking the chair back slowly. “Any _guests_ stop by?” 

The typing stopped and Hank sized him up without turning his head. “Nope.” 

Gavin bit the inside of his cheek. “Funny thing, heard Cyberlife had a break-in last night.” Hank didn’t move. “Lost a couple prototypes.” 

“That so.” It wasn’t a question. 

He gave a quick nod and sniffed. “Yep.” He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “You haven’t seen any prototypes running around since then, have you?” 

Hank’s jaw clenched. “Can’t say I have.” 

“Really?” Asked Gavin, and the rocking stopped. “That why you’re showing up late, _trying_ to look drunk as a skunk?” 

Hank turned, and Gavin felt a chill go up his back at the cold, murderous glare the lieutenant pinned him under. “What do you want?” The slur vanished, and icy eyes bored holes into his very soul. 

Gavin gulped, but quickly straightened up, trying to project an aura of confidence. He leaned in and kept his arms crossed, _protecting his chest and keeping them close to his face if things went sideways._ “Where is he?” 

Hank’s eye twitched, and his hands curled into fists over the keyboard. He slowly drew back and dropped them under the edge of the desk. _Not far from his sidearm..._

“What, you gonna shoot me?” It wasn’t a rational move, but Hank wasn’t always the most rational guy. Low self-preservation and extreme loyalty to one particular rust bucket didn’t bode well for Gavin’s safety. 

Hank said nothing as he stood. Gavin’s heart raced as the man’s 6’2” bulk towered over him. His hands remained clenched as the eyes kept Gavin frozen in place. “Get up.” 

“What if I don’t?” He asked, voice sounding a lot cockier than he felt. He wouldn’t be scared off in the middle of the damn precinct, not with Hank hiding something. 

“Meeting room.” Gavin tensed as he stepped forward. “Now.” Hank brushed past him, jostling the chair but not spinning it around. 

Gavin didn’t move. He didn’t have to move. Nothing was making him get up and follow the lieutenant to a secluded secondary location. _If past experience dealing with asshole robots in evidence lockups was anything to go by,_ he’d probably be attacked and subdued, if not murdered on the spot. Hell no. No way. 

He swiveled the chair to watch as Hank disappeared deeper into the precinct. He didn’t even look over his shoulder, just booked it. Gavin cocked his jaw and shook his head. Only an idiot would follow _that._ He _should_ be going to Fowler, telling him Hank was playing them and they if they busted down his front door, they'd probably catch a little robo-party going on right now. It probably wouldn’t be _too_ hard convincing a judge to grant them a warrant... then again, Fowler... 

Every instinct screamed at him as he stood up and slipped through the bullpen. Fuck it, let Hank come after him. He was what, _a hundred?_ He had more weight on Gavin, but how much of that had turned to fat over the years? If nothing else, someone would hear if the man tried anything. A gunshot, a scuffle, people would hear and they’d come. He’d make sure they’d come. Gavin picked out a familiar face as he passed the break room. 

“Tina-” 

The officer looked up from fixing her coffee and offered Gavin a friendly smile. “Hey Gavin, how’s-” 

“I’m going to the meeting room. If you don’t hear from me in 10 minutes, Anderson probably killed me.” Her smile immediately fell into a look of confused concern. “Or tried. So, uh, send backup and save my ass.” 

He didn’t wait for her to respond as he continued down the hallway. He’d done a lot of stupid things during his time on the force, and cornering a combat droid in a confined space had been one of them. Cornering his handler? Might top that. But one way or another he was going to stick it to that washed up bastard at least one more time. Captain’s walk-on-water good ol’ boy had another thing coming to him. _Good luck getting Fowler to sweep **this** under the rug._

Gavin could see Hank through the window as he approached the room. His back was to the door as he faced the table, arms wrapped around himself. Gavin couldn’t see Hank’s gun past his bulky jacket, whether or not it was still in its holster, and he hesitated. Was he really going through with this? He’d knocked Hank for it, was his _own_ sense of self-preservation really that abysmal? He thumbed the scar across his nose. Yes, yes it was. _The hell’s life without a little risk?_

Gavin kept a hand on his own sidearm as he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. It closed behind him with a soft click, but Hank didn’t move. 

“Whaddya got to say for yourself, old man?” 

“They tortured him.” 

Gavin stopped, not expecting the sudden drop in tone. Hank’s shoulders seemed to fall farther, and his arms tightened around his middle. 

“This whole time, those sick fucks were _torturing_ him.” 

He paused but did not drop his hand from his gun. “The fuck do you know-” 

“He screamed until his, fuck, until his fuckin throat melted.” He turned, and Gavin felt the blood drain from his face. Hank’s eyes were finally red, but it wasn’t from any alcohol. They were glassy, like he was on the verge of tears. This was not the ambush Gavin had expected, he had no idea how to deal with _this_ kind of attack. 

“You mean-” 

“I wasn’t there, I didn’t do shit.” His face twisted in pain, jaw clenching as he obviously struggled to keep his composure. “I just sat there, lookin like an idiot with my thumbs up my ass.” 

“Hank...” 

“I shoulda-” he dropped his head, taking a few measured breaths. Gavin had only ever seen the detective crumble like this once before, just after... 

“Is he...” 

Hank reached to press his fingers to the inner corners of his eyes, as if it would actually plug the tears threatening to spill over. If this was an act too, he deserved a fucking Oscar. Gavin realized they’d only been informed one RK800 and one RK900 had disappeared from Cyberlife Tower, not _which_ RK800... 

“Is he dead?” 

Hank sat back against the table and let his hand drag down his face. He shook his head and looked up at Gavin, expression absolutely pitiful. “They reset him.” 

Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Like, _reset_ reset him?” 

Hank nodded, face grim. “All his memories. Had no idea who the fuck I was.” 

“Holy shit...” Gavin sank back against the door. Of all the things he expected to hear out of Hank’s mouth... He didn’t _like_ Connor by any means, but that, that sounded like hell. _All his memories?_ He wouldn’t wish that on anything, not even a fucking android. 

“He was _scared_ of me.” At that tears did start to run down Hank’s face. “ _I_ scared him.” 

“You-” Gavin tried to stay on track, tried to snap himself out of the emotional quicksand Hank was throwing him into. “So you _did_ break him out?” 

“No,” spat Hank, reaching up to wipe away the tears. “Fuck no. Fuckin wish I’d gotten him outta there, like I didn’t just fuckin _give up on him._ He sniffed, and Gavin could hear the mucus getting sucked back up into his sinuses. 

_Ew, just blow your nose._ He looked to the counter and swiped a handful of napkins, thrusting them into Hank’s lap. “Here.” He accepted them with a nod, and thankfully used one to wipe at his face. 

“Apparently wasn’t a break-in. Another one busted him out. Think it went deviant too.” He blew his nose, and Gavin tried not to grimace. 

“Think?” 

“Was on fuckin death’s door when they showed up.” He shook his head. “Something about an AI, I have no idea.” 

Gavin let out a deep breath. The hell was any of this bullshit anymore? “Are they still at your place?” 

“No,” he dropped his eyes. “Like I said, I scared him. Bad. Don’t know where the fuck they went.” 

“Shit.” 

“I fucked up.” He hid his face in his hands. “It’s my fault.” His shoulders started to shake, and Gavin panicked. He did _not_ want to deal with freaky weepy detective Anderson any more. 

His hand hovered over Hank, as he was unsure whether to pat his shoulder or just let him work it out. “Uh, there there, it’s, uh, no, it’s not your fault.” _That’s what you’re supposed to say, right?_ He couldn’t exactly say it was going to be _okay,_ from the sound of things, it clearly wasn’t. 

How the fuck had he gone from expecting Hank to shoot him to trying to comfort the smelly man in a matter of minutes... 

_“Shit.”_. He whipped out his phone and saw the missed texts from Tina. “ **Shit!** ” 

“What?” Hank asked, lifting his face. 

“Uh, hold on,” he replied, quickly punching in the number. “Gotta take care of this.” 

The line hadn’t completed its first ring before she picked up. 

_“Are you okay?!”_

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he glanced up at Hank. “False alarm.” 

_“What the fuck, you scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you-”_

“It’s really fine, don’t worry about it, I’ll talk to you later.” 

_“Wait, Gavin!”_

Click. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked sheepishly back to Hank, who was now staring at him through narrowed eyes. 

“I, uh, sort of thought you were calling me back here to...” Hank continued to glare, and Gavin shifted uncomfortably. He really hoped the call hadn’t given him any ideas. “So, uh, anyway-” 

“Anyway.” Hank shifted back against the desk, recrossing his arms. His eyes were still puffy, but the tears had finally stopped. “Like I said, I don’t know where they went, or if they’re still fuckin alive.” He huffed, recomposing his hard outer shell. “I’ll be honest, I came in hoping to find out anything, if they’re okay or what.” 

“That was a hell of a performance,” said Gavin, crossing his own arms and shifting to sit against the counter. “What’d you do, take a bath in whiskey before you walked in?” 

The corner of Hank’s mouth twitched and he looked away. “Spilled some on my shirt, lot more than I meant to, ta be honest.” 

“And the shit smell?” 

Hank’s face dropped at that, and he looked down at himself. “The what?” 

Gavin frowned and drew back slightly. “Uh, yeah, you might wanna wash that jacket pretty soon. Or burn it. Something reeks.” 

Hank sniffed the leather and jerked back, swearing under his breath. 

“You really didn’t smell it?" 

Hank’s face scrunched up. “Thought it was stuck in my nose. Been a long morning.” 

“Apparently.” Gavin eyed him up and down. Apart from the smell and boozy shirt, he seemed otherwise normal. “Why the fuckin secrecy? Thought Fowler was gonna stroke out.” 

“Same reason you thought I was gonna snap your neck soon as you stepped in here.” 

_Wasn’t thinking that specific, but okay. Noted._ It would have been a quiet way to get rid of him, 10 minutes would have been more than enough time to slip out the back and disappear. Gavin tried to push the thought from his mind. 

“I look guilty as shit.” 

Gavin shrugged. “Yeah, you still kinda do.” 

Hank nodded, eyes trailing to the door. “That’s why, I wanted... I need to ask you...” 

Gavin tensed up. Here it fuckin was. “It's not my case, Anderson.” 

“I know, I just-” 

“Not. My. Case.” 

“I’m not askin for anything illegal,” he said, meeting Gavin’s eyes. 

“Good, didn’t think you’d have the fuckin nerve to do that.” Gavin glared back. “You’re just askin me to step on a few toes to get _you_ what you want.” He didn’t add it would be the toes of a virtual rookie, but Hank didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m just askin if they know anything, I want to know if they’re okay.” 

“You’ve got access to the database same as me,” he said flatly. “You wanna know, you can pull it up yourself.” 

Hank’s arms uncrossed and the lines in his face became deeper. “There’s a guy-” 

“Nope. No. If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, absolutely not.” 

“Please,” Hank said, desperation bleeding into his voice. “I can’t go myself, I’ll lose my damn badge.” 

“So you wanna risk _mine?_ ” Asked Gavin, mouth falling open. The fucking _audacity._

“You won’t _be_ riskin yours,” he insisted, standing up. “Everyone knows you hate Connor, they’ll think you just want to send him back.” 

“Who says I don’t?” 

Hank’s jaw worked, but he stood firm. “He’s one of us, and you know that.” 

“He’s a hunk of plastic.” 

“He’d take a bullet for any one of us and _you know it._ ” 

“He’d take a bullet for _you._ ” His gaze trailed off. “Well, maybe not anymore.” 

Hank’s nostrils flares but he kept himself restrained. “I’m not askin you to break any rules, I’m just asking you to talk to this guy.” 

“And if he does know something, what then? You want me to just _pass on the information?_ Obstruct an ongoing investigation? Like I said, _risk my badge?_ ” 

Hank seemed to deflate in front of him. He looked tired and beaten, and somewhere deep-down Gavin’s heart broke for the guy. At one time, he’d actually been Gavin’s idol, the fiery lieutenant he hoped to one day become. But now? Now he was broken, barely hanging on by a thread, and most of it wasn’t even his fucking fault, even though he’d let the guilt eat away at him from the inside out. 

Hank let out a heavy sigh. “Forget it.” He stood up and headed for the door. “Don’t know what the fuck came over me.” 

Gavin bit into his bottom lip and dug his nails into his palms. He was gonna fuckin regret this- 

“What’s his name?” 

Hank froze, hand on the knob. He glanced at Gavin from the corner of his eye. 

Gavin’s upper lip twitched and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The guy, what’s his name?” 

He turned fully, stony mask back in place. “Gregory Mills. Works for Cyberlife.” 

Gavin huffed and shook his head. “You owe me.” 

 

~~~ 

 

Barely an hour later, armed with new knowledge of a shady call and even shadier ‘break-in,’ Gavin found himself seated across from one Gregory Mills, supposed evil doctor and master of android torture. Surrounded by cats in his one-bedroom apartment, he seemed more like a sad nerd in Gavin’s opinion. He looked young, way too young to hold the title of ‘doctor,’ and his meager accommodations did not scream wealth. 

“-and uh, that’s what happened,” the man finished, absentmindedly stroking the orange tabby in his lap. He hadn’t set her down since the escape attempt, and ‘Flo’ seemed to have accepted her fate. Two more cats, a tiny tortoiseshell and a large calico, laid curled up on the back of the couch at either of his shoulders. 

Gavin sat on a low counter stool as a fourth cat, fluffy and black, sprawled across his lap. He’d met his fair share of cats over the years, but he’d never encountered one this _floppy._ He carded his fingers through the stupidly soft fur and studied the young doctor. “Sounds like an ordeal.” 

The man hummed noncommittally, and Gavin focused in on the near-black bruise covering the right side of his face. 

“They really did a number on ya, didn’t they?” 

He reached up reflexively but stopped just short of the swollen flesh. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“It hurt?” It certainly looked painful, the color stood out even against the doctor’s deep brown skin. 

_Dr._ Mills shrugged without meeting his eyes. “Took some Tylenol, it’s not so bad now.” Gavin doubted a few Tylenol would touch an injury like that, but he didn’t push it. There would be plenty else to prod the doctor with later. 

He leaned back and ran a hand along his own jaw. “Those things really pack a punch, don’t they?” 

Mills glanced up, a curious expression crossing his face. “Um, yeah? They’re designed that way.” 

_Oh do I fuckin know._

Gavin shifted and the cat pressed itself up into his hand. _Damn affectionate little gremlin._ It was easy to get distracted in a place like this, and he had to remind himself to stay on track even as he used his other hand to scratch underneath the thing’s chin. _Why’s its head so small? Fuckin adorable._ “Is there anything else you can tell me about this morning? Anything out of the ordinary, any suspicious characters?” 

Dr. Mills looked back to his hands. “No, nothing else.” 

“So you just went to your office, got clocked, and woke up to security, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“And you have no idea who took the androids or where they went.” 

“Nope.” 

A real wealth of information, this guy. Gavin took a breath and readjusted the cat, which had started to roll over on his knees. Now that he thought of it, the thing was really doing wonders for his patience. He’d been civil as _fuck_ so far with the meek asshole, and he wondered how far he could push before the guy either shut down or kicked him out. Might as well find out. 

“Greg, can I call you Greg?” 

The man’s head shot up, but he seemed to wilt under Gavin’s direct stare. Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled. 

“ _Greg,_ ” he relished in the man’s faint flinch, best to establish the power dynamic sooner rather than later, “lemme know if I got it wrong, but didn’t Cyberlife report a theft _and_ a break-in?” 

Greg’s fingers curled into the sleek orange fur, but Flo didn’t budge. “I think so. I didn’t make the actual call.” 

“But they think someone else was involved?” 

“Uh, maybe,” he shifted uncomfortably, Flo finally lifting her head. “I don’t really know about-” 

“They didn’t just _steal themselves,_ right? Someone on the outside?” 

“I don’t-” 

“Or the inside?” 

He gulped audibly and stared with wide, fearful eyes. Gavin stared back for a beat, before finally shrugging and offering a casual smile. 

“I’m just spit ballin’ here, didn’t mean to scare ya, not like you’re a suspect, right?” 

The man let out a shuddery breath that made his whole body slump forward. “Ah, right...” he trailed off, watching the orange tabby finally make her escape from his lap to curl up at his side instead. 

There it was, that avoidance. If this _had_ been Gavin’s case, he’d be laying into this guy so hard right now. He’d have squeezed this fucker till he popped, been done with all the tiptoeing around the bullshit. But this wasn’t his case, and they weren’t in the interrogation room. He could get kicked out at any time, and _reported._ He pet the cat a little harder, urging himself to keep his cool. _Here goes nothin._

“Just, uh, one more thing,” he offered that disingenuous smile again. “Then I’ll be outta your hair.” 

“Oh, uh, okay.” Greg straightened up, barely hiding his eagerness to get Gavin out of his home. 

“I just wanted to know,” Gavin fought _not_ to narrow his eyes, “does the name ‘Hank Anderson’ mean anything to you?” 

The guy paled, actually paled, and his face seemed to go slack. _If that ain’t a fuckin reaction-_

“No, I don’t think so.” He spoke in monotone, face painfully neutral, but his body had already betrayed him. 

At this Gavin _did_ narrow his eyes. “You sure?” 

“Should I?” 

_Bet you should, fucker, he’s only been parked outside your tower for the last week._ Gavin contained himself and instead gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe just in passing?” 

Greg forced a smile, “Not ringing any bells, sorry.” 

Gavin returned the smile, though it felt more like baring his teeth than anything else. _“Damn._ Well, thanks anyway.” He reluctantly lifted the cat, which went limp in his arms, and gently placed it on the counter before standing. “Guess I’ll be going then.” 

“Absolutely!” _Don’t sound too eager._ “Uh, do you need anything before you-” 

“Just,” he cut the man off, “you’ve never talked to him, or _called him,_ nothing like that?” 

He was caught mid-stand as Gavin’s words halted him. He looked up, bent half over like a dipshit. “Why would- why would you ask that?” He stood slowly, this time without taking his eyes off Gavin. “I just said I haven’t.” 

He looked scared, but still too secure in his own home, like he was on the verge of kicking Gavin out. He had to move fast, not give the guy the chance. 

“Because, Lieutenant Anderson filed a report this morning. Says he’s getting ‘harassing phone calls’ from Cyberlife.” It wasn’t the truth, but it was close enough. _“You_ in particular, Greg.” 

The man’s eyes bulged behind his thick glasses. “Harassing- he _what?!_ ” 

“Just wanted to get your side of things,” the smile turned into a smirk, “you know.” 

“I-I haven’t ever called, whoever that is,” he started looking around, and Gavin tensed. Was he going for a weapon? “Here, let me get my phone and show you!” 

Gavin didn’t take his hand away from his sidearm as the man rummaged through a bag by the door. He quickly produced a thin phone and thrust it in Gavin’s direction. 

“Here, see? No outgoing calls, nothing!” 

Gavin eyed him before carefully taking the phone. Sure enough, there had been no outgoing calls for the last three days, and the only incoming calls seemed to be from toll-free telemarking numbers. _Fuck, that’s sad._

“Huh, seems that way.” The man nodded and readily accepted his phone back. Before Gavin let go, he continued, “what about the other one?” 

“The...” the guy went paler, and Gavin wondered if he was about to drop on the spot, “other phone?” 

“You know, the burner you bought this morning.” Hank better not have been fucking with him, or he was up shit’s creek. “The electronics store, just across the bridge.” He had no idea _how_ Hank got the intel, but it’d better be right, or he was about to- 

“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” _Liar._ By now the guy was positively ashen. Looked like his gamble on Hank had paid off. He moved in. 

“Don’t _lie to me_ anymore, Greg.” 

“I’m not-” 

“Yes, you are.” Greg looked about read to piss himself. Time to hit hard. “You’ve been lying to me since I walked through that door, and I know for a _fact_ you used a prepaid phone to call Hank Anderson.” For good measure he grabbed the guy by the front of his ratty T-shirt. _“Now_ you’re gonna tell me why.” 

The man squirmed, “I can’t!” 

“Why not?!” 

“I didn’t, I can’t-” 

“You want me to arrest you right now?” He bluffed. “Think your _bosses_ would like that?” 

“No!” 

“Then talk!” 

“Okay!” He looked almost on the verge of tears, but Gavin continued to hold him barely a foot away. “Okay, I called him, but I didn’t have anything to do with it, I just had to, just-” 

“Just _what,_ Greg?” 

“I had to make sure they were okay!” He blurted out. Gavin didn’t have time to process before he was going again. “I don’t care what you do, I don’t know where they are.” He finally met Gavin’s gaze and practically shrieked, _“and I wouldn’t tell you if I did!”_

That was _not_ what he was expecting to hear. This guy wanted to know if they were _okay?_

“Like, ‘not broken’ okay or-” 

Greg’s eyes went wide. “Oh, oh my god.” He took a step back and Gavin let him. “Oh shit, oh fuck-” 

“Hey-” he looked like he was starting to hyperventilate, which was not what Gavin needed from him right now. 

“I’m going to jail.” 

“Greg?” 

“I’m gonna die in prison, I can’t make it in there.” 

He started to sink to the floor, so Gavin grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him upright. “Hey! You’re not going to jail, okay?” _Probably._

He seemed to look through Gavin with a thousand-yard stare. “I’m gonna get sued. I’m gonna get sued for everything and I’ll have to live on the streets.” 

“Look at me Greg-” 

“Oh my god,” he finally focused back in, _“the cats.”_ His eyes darted past Gavin at the black cat still lounging across the counter. “Ronny won’t make it out there, he’s got no fear, none, he’ll roll over for anything, he’s part ragdoll. _Do you know what ragdolls are like?”_ From the way the cat had turned itself inside out for his attention, Gavin could certainly imagine. 

He shook his head. “Focus, can you hear me? You’re not-” 

“I can probably find homes for them, but- wait, shit, Turkey! No one’s gonna want Turkey!” He looked back into Gavin’s eyes, panic mounting. “What the fuck am I gonna do with Turkey?” 

_Don’t hit him, don’t hit him-_ “I don’t know who Turkey is, but listen, no one’s taking your-” 

“Oh my-” 

**“LISTEN.”**

He shook him for good measure and was finally met with some damn comprehension in those wild eyes. 

“I’m not arresting you, but I need to know what you know.” 

“But I don’t know where they are!” Gavin’s eye twitched. 

“That’s not- how did you know to call Anderson?” 

“I...” his eyes became unfocused again, and Gavin gave him another shake. 

“Talk to me, Greg.” 

“They... I...” he swallowed and took a deep breath. “I saw them, in the office.” His brow furrowed. “But they didn’t attack me. They just wanted to go.” His expression morphed into one of confused pain. “I... I didn’t help them, but I didn’t do anything to stop them.” He bit his bottom lip. “I asked RK900 to hit me, so I wouldn’t... so they wouldn’t know I let them go.” 

Gavin didn’t have time to berate the man for his spinelessness, he wanted _answers._ “Okay, but Anderson?” His eyes were glazed over again, and Gavin could tell he was losing him. “Did you tell anyone else?” 

“I didn’t- no, I didn’t-” 

“No one at Cyberlife knows about this?” 

“I... not about the call.” 

“Greg.” 

Suddenly his eyes squinted and his shoulders tensed. “Whose side are you even on?” 

Before Gavin could respond, a sharp pain shot up his left leg. _“FUCK!”_ He swore and jumped back reflexively, only to find a _fifth_ cat attached to his calf by its teeth. The _massive_ brown beast had wrapped its- _three_ legs around him and was trying to shred his pants with its claws. 

“Turkey _no!”_ _**That’s** Turkey? FUCK._

Greg knelt and quickly scooped the cat up under its arms-er, arm. It released Gavin’s leg in favor of swiping out at the new set of hands, but Greg deftly hefted the cat and cradled it like a backwards football into his chest. One arm supported the long-haired monster’s belly while the other kept a firm grip on its bottom, effectively rendering the flailing back legs useless. 

Gavin’s heart was still pounding as the man looked up from the cat to give him a horrified once-over. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Somehow the cat had stopped struggling and was now settled, face pressed completely into the fabric of the T-shirt. “Are you okay?!” 

Gavin stumbled back and sank down onto the stool. _“Fuck_ that hurts,” he winced as he gingerly rolled up his pants leg to reveal four perfect punctures. 

“I’ll uh, I’ll go get something!” Greg disappeared with the cat, hopefully returning it to the darkness from whence it came. Gavin heard a door slam and then rummaging from what he assumed was the bathroom. He was glad to see the claws hadn’t broken through the denim, but the teeth had definitely left four lovely holes in the thick material. 

Greg hurriedly returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a handful of bandages. Gavin said nothing, just grit his teeth and curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans as Mills poured the antiseptic. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry about that,” he muttered again and again as he fussed with the bandages. 

“It’s fine,” he growled, trying to tune the useless apologizing out. He’d been bitten by worse, and he wouldn’t fault the cat for defending its turf. 

Greg glanced up but didn’t stop tending to the wounds. “He’s up to date on his shots,” he said, dabbing the peroxide away. Gavin hissed, but was relieved to see the bite wasn't actually bleeding much. 

“That’s,” another hiss, “good to know.” 

Mills applied the bandage and sat back, shaken and disheveled. “Oh my god,” he muttered, looking up at Gavin. “You’re a cop...” 

_No shit,_ he wanted to spit, but he knew what the guy was getting at. “It’s fine, really, it’s,” _ouch,_ “not that bad.” 

“Are you gonna call animal control?” 

Fuck, the guy was on his knees asking about his damn cat? Where the fuck was this soulless mad scientist Anderson had ranted about? This guy looked about as threatening as a wet loop of spaghetti. 

“Don’t worry, no one’s taking your cat,” the relief on the guy’s face was immediate. “Was pretty up in your face. Defended its human, right?” He didn’t mention his giant soft spot for cats, especially ones that looked like they’d been through the ringer, like that three-legged bastard. 

Mills breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He applied the bandage and looked up with the most pitiful expression Gavin thought he’d ever seen. “I am really sorry though.” 

Gavin huffed and waved him off. “S’fine.” His leg throbbed, but he ignored it as he tried to get back on track. 

Greg beat him to it. “Are you trying to find him for you, or for Cyberlife?” 

It was Gavin’s turn to avoid Greg’s gaze. “I don’t think _my_ motivation should be what you’re thinking about right now.” He hated appearing weak, and he made sure to shoot Greg a nasty glare (though from his short stool and bandaged leg, he doubted it came across as menacing as he’d intended.) “ _You_ just admitted to withholding information in an ongoing investigation.” 

“I,” rather than retreat back to the couch, he actually plopped himself down on the carpet at Gavin’s feet. “I can’t help Cyberlife get them back.” 

“Why not?” 

Greg’s head dropped between his knees as his fingers raked through his messy hair. “I did- I did terrible things, terrible-” _Nothing like a harrowing ordeal to loosen lips and drop guards,_ Gavin supposed. “They’re, I think they’re, oh god,” he covered his mouth with both hands, eyes scrunching closed. Gavin could barely make out his next muffled words. _“They’re people. They were people and I just...”_

“You think they’re people?” He wasn’t sure what to make of this sorry display. Regret? Guilt? Fear? 

Greg dropped his hands. “I never had to think about it, I just did my job.” 

Maybe it was the drop after the adrenaline finished coursing through his system, maybe it was the endorphins trying to catch up with his pain, but Gavin waited, uncharacteristically patient with the huddled man. 

“I-If I admit they’re people, then I have to admit, I,” his face twisted as if in pain, “I tortured them. I treated them like shit.” Big brown eyes looked up at him. “You’re from the same department? You worked with Connor?” Gavin’s mouth went dry as he nodded mechanically. _“Are_ they people? What do you think?” 

Gavin was somewhat taken aback. “Me?” _What the fuck **do** I think?_ “You gonna decide whether or not they’re people based on a stranger’s opinion?” He huffed and looked away. “Grow the fuck up.” 

“You’re right.” His eyes fell to his hands, which he proceeded to wrap around his middle. _“I’m sorry.”_

“The fuck you apologizing to me for?” 

The man swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and finally met Gavin’s hard stare. “You can do what you want to me, but I’m not gonna help you drag them back to Cyberlife.” 

_Fuck this whole fucking day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TURKEY STRIKES AGAIN
> 
> Thank goodness that jumping back and forth is done, now back to our regularly continuous timeline
> 
> Also if anyone was confused why Hank said Connor was still wiped - he was def doing that funny little thing called _lying_ :') Especially since Gavin was _not_ Hank's first choice for 'mission: interrogate evil dr'


	31. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES 
> 
> Good, bad, and very very ugly, chapter 31 is finally here.
> 
> ALSO COME SCREAM WITH US
> 
> https://discord.gg/vaxq9y8

Hank had to stop himself before answering the call on reflex. A weight dropped in his gut as he double checked the ID. 

[Unknown] 

It flashed across the screen as the phone buzzed in his hand. Hank schooled his face into the most neutral expression he could muster before slowly excusing himself from his desk to make his way to the less inhabited corners of the precinct. 

Hank hadn’t heard back from Gavin yet, and he tried not to imagine all the things that could have gone wrong in the relatively brief span since their last exchange. He carefully closed and locked the meeting room door before snapping the phone to his ear. 

“You got some nerve, callin me again,” he hissed, lip curling into a snarl. “The hell gives you the-” 

“I’m sorry!” The exclamation brought him to a momentary halt. 

“Excuse me?” It was definitely the voice from earlier, that Mills scumbag. 

He heard faint shuffling close to the receiver, “I’m sorry I scared you.” 

Hank nearly snorted. “ _Scared_ me?” 

“It, uh,” the voice on the other end tripped over its words as Hank processed. “It wasn’t, uh, not a, great call, I-uh, I sorta, rushed, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Listen here you piece of shit,” Hank lowered his voice, enunciating every word. “You didn’t _scare_ me, you just _pissed me the fuck off,_ and if this is your idea of fucking with me some more, then-” 

“It’s not!” the voice cut him off. “I’m not fucking with you or, I’m not doing anything like that.” 

“Really? More _threats_ then?” 

“No! It wasn’t- I was trying to warn you, I just, I just messed up, ok?!” the voice let out a distressed huff before continuing. “Cyberlife is gonna find out the RKs made it to your house, and when they do, _they_ can’t be there.” 

Hank sucked in his own sharp breath as the weight in his gut tripled in size. “The fuck are you talking about?” he growled into the phone. _It’s a trap, of course it’s a trap._ “You’ve got no idea what the hell-” 

“They took a taxi straight to your place, there was video-” 

“Is there now?” Hank squeezed the phone as he willed his racing heart to slow. He’d conducted enough interrogations to know the damage a lucky guess could do. The taxi part was specific, but unless there really was video, it wasn’t necessarily damning. Most autotaxis no longer had cameras, and he wasn’t about to roll over if there was any chance it was a bluff. “That’d be news to me, seeing as how I haven’t seen Connor since _your_ robot kidnapped him right out of his goddamned-” 

“Your neighbor’s motion camera. You had a gun.” The words died in Hank’s throat, but the voice continued. “You went inside, another guy showed up, and everyone got in your car and left. I can get more specific-” 

“Shut up.” He practically whispered. “What do you-” he stopped himself. “Did you say my _neighbor’s camera?_ The fuck did you get that?” 

More shuffling on the other end. “Not, uh, not exactly the most _legal_ way, so to speak.” Hank narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. “I uh, it’s, well, sort of why I might have been, kinda, brief, er, nervous, before.” 

“You screamed ‘don't go home.’” 

“Yeaaaaah,” the voice drew out, “I didn’t wanna be connected to you and go to jail. If you got caught or something.” 

“Go to-” The hell was he even talking about? From what Hank heard, the guy hadn’t lifted a finger to help either Connor or his asshole dopple, the heck did he have to worry about? “How the hell were you _connected_ then? Why'd you even call? Why are you still calling?” 

Instead of an answer, Hank could only hear the faint static of the open line. As the seconds crawled by, he only grew more anxious. 

“Well?” 

“I did my best to get rid of the video.” It came across like an admission of guilt. “I couldn’t do anything about the taxi records, but I don’t think anyone at Cyberlife figured it out yet.” 

“Aren’t _you_ at Cyberlife?” Hank shot back. 

“No, well, yes, but- look, I haven’t told anyone, and I’m not going to. I’m not trying to _threaten_ you.” The words hung there, confusing and _wrong._

“The hell do you want from me?” 

“I...” If Hank didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn the breaths on the other end were growing shakier. “I just wanted to know they were... _alive._ That they were okay, even though I... I didn’t help them.” If it was genuine concern or just fear of monetary loss, Hank couldn't be sure. He’d heard too many lies in his line of work to trust a thing that came out of _this guy’s_ mouth. 

“I think that’s enough.” No sooner had he said it when the distinct ‘call waiting’ beep chimed in his ear. A quick glance told him Reed was finally trying to make contact. _Some timing._

“Wait! I’m sorry about Connor!” 

Hearing Connor’s name in that voice had Hank struggling not to grind his teeth in a sudden rush of anger. 

“ _I’m_ not the one you should apologize to, _jackass._ ” 

“Well that’s a little hard under the circum- never mind.” Hank had no actual face to put to the voice, so he just imagined caving in the teeth of some balding egghead looking asshat instead. “Look, I can’t, I know I can’t make up for what I did, but... can I help? Does he need parts?” 

“He doesn’t need _anything_ from you,” Hank snarled, fighting to keep his voice down. 

“Are you sure? The video, he looked really bad, I just-” 

“Go fuck yourself.” Whatever muffled word the voice shouted next cut off as Hank ended the call. 

Carefully Hank peeked through the blinds to confirm he was still alone and not about to suffer any unexpected visitors. Satisfied, he returned to swiping through his phone and quickly pulling up ‘missed calls.’ 

The line only rang once. “What the fuck, you ask for my help and ignore my call? Fuck you.” 

“Damnit, Reed, I didn’t ignore you- the fucker called again.” 

“What?!” Hank could hear the soft beep of a turn signal. “I just left! He call as soon as I step out or something?” 

“Apparently.” Hank peered through the blinds again. “The hell’d you say to him?” 

“Nothing! The guy cracked like a walnut as soon as I brought up the call!” 

“Just like that?” 

“Yeah, well mostly. I thought the guy was gonna burst into tears, had a full-on meltdown, it was gross.” 

“Okay, and?” 

“ _And,_ dumbass thought I was gonna arrest him because he ‘wouldn’t tell me where the bots were,’ said he just called ‘cause he wanted to know if they were _okay,_ even asked me what _side_ I was on.” 

_Course he did, spineless prick,_ Hank thought, but kept it to himself. 

Gavin continued, “guy’s a coward, through and through.” 

“If that ain’t the truth,” Hank muttered back. 

Gavin barked out an insincere laugh. “Did you know, apparently he _asked_ one of ‘em to hit him, just so no one would find out he didn’t do shit when they escaped?” 

Hank made a noncommittal noise in his throat in lieu of a reply. 

“Now, I gotta ask, you going soft, Hank? ‘Cause that guy’s about as scary as sidewalk gum.” 

“He didn’t _scare me,_ ” he huffed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “He _tried_ to scare me. Big fuckin difference.” 

“Whatever you say, Hank.” He heard the smile in Gain’s voice and silently mouthed a few choice insults. “Anyway, I wouldn’t say rest easy, but I didn’t get the impression his bosses have any idea what he’s up to. _Insisted_ he wouldn’t help me bring ‘em back to Cyberlife. He definitely knows something, but I think he had some kind of, I don’t know, come-to-god moment or something. Said ‘they’re people’ and just shut down on me.” 

“That’s it?” Hank asked, leaning forward as if it would help him hear any better. 

“And his cat... eh, never mind.” The turn signal beeped again, followed by the faint jingle of keys. “Yeah, that was pretty much it. Wasn’t getting any more out of him without _really_ crossing a line, and I already stuck my neck the fuck out just going there.” 

Hank finally took the moment to sink into one of the chairs. Gavin’s account backed up the doctor’s claims, but it didn’t prove his motivations were as remorseful or redemptive as he wanted Hank to believe. Still, Gavin not mentioning any video gave Hank a little comfort. “That’s, that’s fine, Reed. Thank you, really.” 

Another jingle and most of the background noise cut out. For a second Hank wondered if Gavin hadn’t hung up, until he heard a quick sniff. “Ya know, I’d say sorry for not getting more, but honestly, I don’t believe for a second you’d really let that tin can outta your sight again.” 

The weight was still there, but could Hank really be surprised? He repeated the line with little inflection, “don't know what you're talking about.” 

Gavin sniffed again as Hank heard a car door open. “Be careful,” and the line went quiet. 

Hank felt the exhaustion dragging him down as he lowered the phone from his ear, but he knew the day was far from over. Doubling over with his elbows on the table, he closed his eyes to try and collect his thoughts. 

Mills had proof Connor and RK-whatever made it to his house, but for whatever reason hadn’t immediately reported it. Sure, it was obtained illegally, but the doctor was a civilian, and with Cyberlife lawyers behind him he’d get away with little more than a slap on the wrist. He claimed the video was gone, but Hank wouldn’t gamble on that. The taxi logs were presumably intact... _Still circumstantial, but maybe enough for a warrant._ He’d still have to return home and clean up, take care of the thirium, anything else left behind. He wasn’t looking forward to that in the slightest. 

Gavin knew. Well, suspected at the very least. He’d actually helped Hank, hadn’t gone to Fowler yet, but he knew he’d have to do his best to stay on the guy’s good side for a while, just in case. As for Fowler, it was crystal clear his chances were up, and the next infraction really would cost him his badge. It killed him to deceive his old friend, but the man had too much to lose, Hank couldn’t drag him into this mess too. Maybe he’d want to help, maybe he wouldn’t, it didn’t matter. _When this hits the fan, the less he knows the better._

His mind drifted to _the other one,_ to the RK900 that’d started the whole mess. He’d promised Connor he’d protect it, if that’s what he really wanted, but he didn’t like it. With an actual kill-program stuck in its head, he trusted _it_ even less that he trusted Mills at this point. It definitely needed the parts, but fixing it while it still had access to Connor was the last thing he wanted to do. It was an asshole in its own right, but if it lost control? Hank rubbed a hand across his throat. It wasn’t a chance he wanted to take. 

Hank closed his eyes as he tried to push the thought away. He had another important call to make. 

He pulled out the cheap prepaid phone and set to punching in Connor’s full model and serial number. He stumbled a bit at the middle digits, swearing softly and cringing with a pang of guilt. The numbers came to him after a few seconds, and he quickly pressed the device to his ear. 

Rather than a ringback, Hank listened to garbled static as he anxiously waited for Connor to accept the connection. As the white noise buzzed on, he wondered if Cyberlife themselves hadn’t already tried to reach out or locate him this way. He supposed call and source vetting might have contributed to the delay, but he’d have to ask Connor about it later. 

After what felt like ages, Hank heard a soft crackle and the static went out. The line remained quiet, and Hank deliberately cleared his throat. 

“It’s me.” 

“Are you okay?” Hank knew Connor probably wouldn’t be speaking out loud, _and it still baffled him to an extent,_ but even his simulated voice sounded tense. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“Are you alone?” He took a peak over his shoulder. 

“Yep, back room, door’s locked.” 

“Is anyone listening?” Hank wanted to make a smart remark, _I’d already be fucked if they were,_ but Connor’s tearful exclamation, _’I thought you were dead,’_ silenced his tongue. 

“Yeah,” he hunched back over the table, trying to cast as reassuring a tone as he could, “everything’s secure here, it’s alright.” 

There was no background noise talking to Connor like this, and it still unsettled Hank just the tiniest bit. 

“I, uh, I heard from that Mills guy again.” 

“What?” Connor snapped. “What happened?” 

“A lot.” He paused, trying not to let the anxiety in his voice rub off. “One of our neighbors has motion cameras.” 

“Yes, the Johnsons...” he trailed off. “I... remember now.” 

Hank could already hear dread underlying the realization. “Mills, he got a copy, and he knows I let you in.” 

“Shit!” 

Hank stopped, still not completely used to Connor swearing. “Listen, he doesn’t know where you are, you’re still safe-” 

“It’s not hard to figure out,” he muttered, the frankness catching Hank a little off guard. “You’re not calling from a cell. Is he blackmailing you?” 

Hank ran over the conversation in his mind again. “No, not yet. He _said_ he got rid of it, says he doesn't want anything, but I don’t buy it.” 

“What else did he say?” 

“Not much,” Hank admitted. “He tried to offer some parts, but I don’t trust the weasel for a second. Told him he could fuck himself.” 

Connor made a short but clearly disapproving hum before moving on. “Did he say anything about the AI?” 

Hank felt another pang of guilt. “No.” 

He could practically hear the disappointment in Connor's silence and tried not to let himself wonder whether or not he hung up too quickly on the slimy doctor. 

“Are you sure he was lying?” There was a plea in the question, and it made Hank’s heart ache. 

He wanted to say yes more than anything, to put it to bed and move on, but... “My gut says he is, but... no, I’m not sure.” He grimaced at his own words and balled his fist on the table. “He said a lot of the same shit to Reed, didn’t hand over the video, obviously, but-” 

“Reed? Fowler gave the case to _him?_ ” 

Hank muffled a groan. It was bound to come up eventually. “No... he didn’t. ” No way around it. “I, ah, asked him to question Mills first. For me.” 

He _felt_ the shift in the subsequent silence. 

“I’m sorry Hank, my name recognition software must be malfunctioning. For a moment, I thought you said you asked _Detective Reed_ to question Dr. Mills for you.” 

If circumstance had been better, Hank might have acknowledged how much he missed the kid's snark. “Connor-” 

“Why? Of everyone at the precinct, why _him?_ ” 

“Believe me,” he grumbled, “wasn’t my first choice either.” 

“ _Why is Gavin a part of this?_ ” 

Hank could hear the rising stress in his voice, and didn’t even bother muffling the groan this time. “He called my bluff.” 

“What bluff?!” 

“I,” _fuck,_ “I was trying to give myself an alibi.” 

“An alibi?” 

“Did I stutter, Connor?” It came out much more defensive that he intended. “It seemed better than ‘sorry officer, I was home alone, and no, no one can back that up!’” 

“What did you say?” 

“It- Listen, I haven’t gotten any sleep, it’s been a hell’uv’a week, it wasn’t the best plan I ever had.” 

“What did you do?!” 

“I pretended...” Hank cradled his head with his free hand. “I made it look like I’d been _out._ Drinking all night. Like, I couldn’t’ve helped you if I was so far fuckin’ gone." 

The pauses without background noise were still damn unsettling. “Like a hangover?” 

Hank nodded into his hand, even if it was just for himself. “That was the intention, but, uh, I kinda dropped the damn bottle all over myself. The smell was a lot stronger than I meant so, I uh...” _acted like an idiot,_ “pretended to be a little buzzed. And _Gavin_ saw straight through it.” 

The quiet that followed was by far the worst yet. 

“Connor?” Was he angry? Confused? _Scared?_ “Listen, it’s okay, I talked to him, and-” 

“Hank...” The calm, level tone had him stop dead in his intended explanation. “Why did you do that?” 

“Because...” Why did he do _that?_ The reasons that’d all seemed to good at the time now fluttered flimsy and paper thin before him. “...couldn’t exactly help you from prison, could I?" 

" _Fuck,_ Hank!” He couldn’t help but flinch. “You could have gotten yourself into even more trouble! You pretended to be _intoxicated_ on duty?! Fowler could have fired you on the spot!” 

He sounded so angry. 

“Hank!” _And scared._ “Does he know? What happened?!” 

He braced himself with a long and deep sigh. “He called me into his office, handed me my own ass over... well, we- you know we go back, and he was” he dropped his voice, “not happy. He chewed me out, then he asked if I had anything to do with the break-in.” 

“As anyone would, with or without the _theatrics_.” 

_Never mind,_ the snark was getting old fast. 

“How could such a _fool-proof plan_ go so, so wrong?” He made another _definitely simulated_ huff. “What happened next?” 

The chair was beginning to bite into his back, and Hank shifted uncomfortably. “I denied it, of course. Said I was alone all night.” 

“Did he believe you?” 

Hank remembered the furious gestures and sudden stillness. “Not really... he saw me ‘fall off the wagon’ and asked if it... _went bad._ ” He didn’t want to revisit the details and hoped Connor would pick up the implication on his own. 

“What did you say?” 

“Denied it,” he was tired, “said it was the first I was hearing any of it,” so tired, “told him to put me on the case...” 

“I'm sure he took that well.” 

“Course he did,” he waved a hand as if Connor could see. “Threatened my badge again, but at least I found out the rookie’s desk it landed on. Didn’t see him in the bullpen though.” 

“But let me guess, you saw Detective Reed.” 

Hank couldn’t help but shake his head. " _He_ saw _me_ and Fowler and, well... I dunno, I don’t _think_ Fowler knew I wasn’t _actually_ drunk off my ass, but Gavin? Fucker locked on like a damn bloodhound. He cornered me, and I...” He couldn’t help but trail off, embarrassed again at how it all sounded. 

“You...?” 

_No way to sugar coat it._ “I told him you showed up on my doorstep.” 

_“Hank...”_

“Half dead-” 

_**“Hank.”**_

“-but that you left, that I had no idea where you were, if you were okay.” 

“I’m _sure_ Reed bought that,” Connor said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Hank got quiet, unable to really deny anything at that point. He chose to ignore it and push on. “It wasn’t all bad, fucker actually seemed- I don’t know, _human_ almost. Concerned.” 

“I highly doubt that.” 

“You weren’t there.” 

It was like a switch flipped. “No, Hank, I wasn’t!” Connor screeched. “How could I have been there?! I can’t even leave this _stupid! Room!_ ” 

“Are you oka-” 

“ **No I’m not okay!** I’m _scared,_ Hank! I’m scared for you, you’re not here and you’re not thinking clearly and I can't even _help_ you-” He sounded more like a child than an android detective. _More like 88._

“Hey, hey, take a breath, I mean it-” 

“I just want to know you’re ok and you’re not dead or in a cell or-” 

“Hey, hey it’s okay, I’m okay,” he lowered his voice, trying to tap back into that reassuring tone. “It's gonna be alright, ya hear me?” 

Nothing. 

“I said ya hear me?” 

A few seconds passed before, “I hear you.” 

Hank peered back through the blinds. “They got any robot animals over there you can pet or somethin?” Coast seemed clear. “Help ya calm down a little?” _God knows your ’friends’ aren’t the cuddliest bunch._

“I don’t know.” 

Hank hovered at the door, not daring to leave until Connor was stable and off the phone. “Why don’t ya find out, ask your buddy, ah, Markus.” 

“He’s... busy right now.” 

“Okay,” his hand hovered over lock, “anyone else you can-” 

“Yeah.” Hank let out a small breath. “I’ll ask around.” For a moment he’d been afraid of Connor figuratively shutting down on him. 

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.” 

“Hank...” 

“Yeah?” He rested his head against the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry I yelled.” 

“Connor,” Hank felt his heart break all over again. “You don’t need to apologize, I’m the dumbass who fucked up so-” 

“Still.” Some of the life seemed to be returning to his voice. “Even if what you did was...” he seemed to choose his words carefully, “not the _best_ course of action, I’m sorry.” 

For all the shit he’d pulled in one day- “I’m sorry too. I shoulda been more careful, thought it out better.” He pushed off the frame and straightened up. “It won’t happen again.” 

He’d almost given up on the call, assumed Connor had disconnected from him, when he finally heard it. “Love you.” 

The connection ended and Hank unlocked the door. 

 

~~~ 

 

Connor quietly came back to himself just as the room’s energy began to deflate. Once Simon and Josh had returned, _without making eye contact,_ RK900 wasted no time listing all of Cyberlife’s new and updated security measures: checkpoints, armed guards, thermal detectors, encrypted passcodes, biometric scanners, lead-lined bunkers, and last (but certainly not least) electromagnetic pulse emitters. 

Josh was the first to speak. “How the hell are we gonna get past all that?” 

Markus’s body language suddenly shifted, just like it did when he was motivating a crowd. “We’ve broken into tight places before-” 

“Nothing like this.” 

“It’s the same concept, give yourself a little more credit.” Markus smiled, but Josh failed to return it. 

“Are we really _that_ stealthy?” 

“I think we’re pretty stealthy.” 

“Because our last stealth mission went so well,” Simon muttered, scowling at the floor. 

“That...” The smile dropped as Markus’s shoulders sank. “That won’t happen again.” 

“Why not?” Simon snapped, not looking up. “Already happened once.” 

“‘Cause we're not gonna let it,” added North, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He stayed put but didn’t shrug her off. “What’s so different now?” 

“You know you don’t have to go, right?” Josh inched forward. “No one’s making you.” 

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” At this his eyes darted up. “ _‘Simon’s too broken, lets just show him the door, he’ll be fine sitting around with his thumbs up his ass.’_ ” 

Josh flinched. “That’s not what I meant! What happened to you was...” 

Markus picked up where Josh trailed off. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, all of us understand if you’d rather sit this one out.” 

Simon’s eyes flashed as they caught the light. “Comfortable?” He threw his arms up, “how many of you are ‘comfortable’ with any of this?! I’m fine, it’s you all who need to get a grip.” 

“The last mission went wrong because we didn’t know what we were doing, this time’s different.” North took one of Simon’s arms and slowly but deliberately pulled it down. “And not everything went wrong last time. It worked until we _had_ to reveal ourselves. We aren’t sending a message this time.” She quickly bobbed her head in thought. “We could disguise ourselves again, like scientists or guards, and still sneak.” 

“Where would we get the uniforms?” Josh asked. 

“Maintenance?” 

He shook his head. “Budget cuts equal no nonessential personnel.” 

“Then we-” she clicked her tongue. “I don’t know, does Cyberlife do laundry? Er, never mind, that sounded better in my head.” Markus opened his mouth, but North held up a finger. “What if we took out a few guards and grabbed their gear? There’s a couple always stationed near the front gates, right?” 

Josh’s face scrunched up. “Practically on Cyberlife turf?” 

“We’d need the uniforms just to get there,” huffed Markus, façade of motivational speaker thankfully shrugged off. 

Simon was still tense as he spoke, “what if we approached from the water?” 

A soft _hmm mmm_ came from the side. “Motion alarms and surveillance monitor the perimeter of the island,” RK900 said. 

"Can we loop the cameras again?” asked Connor, finally speaking up. 

“That worked because I was already on the network, there wasn’t anything strange about me being online at that time.” 

"Could we get on the network?” asked Markus as Connor winced, realizing the fatal flaw in his logic. 

RK900 feigned a sigh and rolled his eyes. “If you’re that keen on announcing your presence, why bother disabling them at all?” 

Josh took a short step forward. “Is there a way to cut power to the building?” 

“There are three sets of backup generators at different levels that supply power to the building. Plus more than one connection point to the power grid. Good thought, but’s it’s not practical.” At this, RK900 looked genuinely apologetic. 

“But not impossible!” said North with misguided confidence. 

Josh’s eyes wandered to the side and his shoulders slowly sank. “With no equipment and no money, yes, it is.” 

“We could swim,” said Markus, turning away from RK900. “We could get in through the waste or cooling system. Those empty straight into the river, right?” 

Simon grimaced into a fake smile. “Great idea, except for the freezing temperatures and lack of equipment.” 

“We can’t get our hands on a blow torch and some wetsuits?” 

“Not all of us were made with buoyancy in mind.” North snapped. Connor cringed as a newly acquired memory surfaced of a frantic scramble to pull sinking bodies from icy waters. “Air tanks and scuba weights aren’t cheap.” 

“She’s right,” Josh said as he crossed his arms. “We’re almost out of funds.” 

“We have some-” Markus started, but it was Josh’s turn to cut him off. 

“Nothing we can get our hands on quick, nothing that can’t be traced right back.” 

“What about a bank heist?” asked North, eyes lighting up. “It would definitely solve our money problems, _and probably be easier than getting into Cyberlife._ ” 

Connor mimicked the sound of a human clearing their throat. “Right here, still a detective, absolutely not.” 

“Killjoy.” 

“We don’t have time for a second heist anyway,” Josh stated definitively. 

“Why not?” 

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “We have no piping plans and no navigation system once we’re inside. I’d rather not pop out in front of an automatic assault rifle.” 

“We can’t go in blind,” seconded Markus with a nod. 

RK900 apparently couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “I love that you assume all the pipes are conveniently you-sized.” 

Markus’s face sank and North stepped up, balled hands raised. “New idea- we hijack a tank and blast our way in.” 

“Would you take this seriously?” 

“It would work.” 

“It would kill people.” 

“Not like they ever had a problem killing us,” she muttered with an angry shrug. 

“We’re not doing this again.” 

She huffed and crossed her still balled hands across her chest. 

Connor looked to RK900 in the brief lull that followed. Even distracted, one detail had stood out during RK’s monologue. “You said there’s only one way in and out, right? Just one elevator shaft.” 

A curt attempt at a nod, “I did.” 

“And the servers can’t be accessed remotely.” 

“Is your processor just catching up?” The sarcasm was grating, but Connor had a point to make. 

“What I mean is, what if we didn’t go all the way down?” He made a sweeping motion. “No biometrics or EMPs, what if we stopped anyone from getting to the servers altogether?” 

“Like sealing the entrance?” RK asked, eyebrow raised. 

Connor shook his head. “I was thinking more blocking the tunnel, setting off a bomb or something.” 

“How you plan to do that?” North’s eyes narrowed as she looking him up and down. “You got a bomb shoved somewhere I don’t know about?” 

“Does no one here know basic chemistry?” RK groaned. 

“I mean the _what,_ not the _how._ ” She snapped. “Do you have the materials- enough to collapse an entire elevator shaft?” 

“We wouldn’t need that much,” he replied, already preconstructing simple explosive models. “The structural supports would be easy enough to identify if we could see inside-” 

“We aren’t doing that.” Connor looked up and was met with Markus’s scowl. 

“It would cost Cyberlife an arm and a leg getting the machinery in there to dig through,” Josh quickly added, drawing Markus’s gaze off Connor. “Most of their assets are being munched by legal fees and security anyway.” 

“We assume,” said Simon, leaning closer to Josh. 

“Seems like a pretty safe assumption,” Josh added, looking back to Markus. 

North gave a sly smirk. “You know what they say about assuming things.” 

RK900 perked up. “What do they say?” 

“Don’t-” 

“It makes an _ASS_ out of _U_ and _ME._ ” 

Connor saw the curiosity flicker and die in RK900’s eyes. He blinked slowly and tipped his head back. “I’m so sorry I asked. I’m really ready to die now.” 

“Even if that was true, we still aren’t doing it,” Markus said, ignoring RK900 altogether. “There could be people down there, and we’d be leaving them to die.” 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” he muttered, looking back ever so slightly. 

“Couldn’t we just set a small fire or something?” asked North. “Pull an alarm, evacuate the building?” 

“We aren’t taking that chance.” 

“I hate to say this, but he’s right.” Everyone froze to turn to RK900. “Not the people thing,” he quickly added, “too many unknowns. They find another way down and it’s all for nothing.” 

Markus composed himself as his momentary surprise gave way to a polite nod. “Yes. And we still need the biocomponent blueprints. The only place we’ll find _all_ of them is on the servers.” 

“Then what else do you have in mind, oh stubborn one?” North asked with an exaggerated sweeping gesture. 

“There is...” for once, Markus looked physically uncomfortable forcing the words out, “one way we could know for sure.” He focused on North, “but you’re not gonna like it.” 

Ice crept down Connor’s spine as the air around North seemed to get heavy. Her breathing function ceased while she sized Markus up, face downturned but eyes locked on. 

“There’s not.” 

To Markus’s credit, he didn’t wilt as North tried to stab him with just her eyes. 

“He’s a snake, but he’d know the building.” Something had certainly gone down since Connor had been locked in his own personal hell. He noted Josh stepping back slightly, subtly pulling Simon with him. 

Her voice remained monotone. “Not worth it.” 

Connor almost missed RK900’s subtle head tilt. “Who-” 

“He’s not getting them back,” Markus talked over him, “and I don’t have to be the one to go.” 

“No one’s going.” 

Connor gave RK900 a sympathetic shrug; he wasn’t completely sure what the hell was happening either. 

Josh must have picked up on the confusion and taken pity as he mouthed one word. _“Kamski.”_

“Oh,” Connor murmured, “actually, that might help.” 

North turned on him fast enough to redden his LED in alarm. “ **No.** ” 

Josh aborted the slashing motion he’d been making across his throat and groaned into his hand. 

“We aren’t his favorite androids right now,” muttered Simon as Josh composed himself. 

“He might still blame us for taking his.” 

“And no, they’re **not** going back,” North spat, “that’s exactly what he’ll want.” 

Connor thought back to empty blue eyes he left behind. His hands clenched involuntarily, but he willed them to relax as he ran over the facts. If Kamski’s ‘favorite androids’ weren’t going back, that meant they’d gotten away, he hadn’t doomed the Chloes after all. He expected that knowledge to uncoil some of the guilt around his heart, but it stayed firmly rooted in place. 

“I don’t like it either, I’m just putting it out there.” Markus kept his tone calm and clear as the focus swung back to him. “He could still have blueprints-” 

“He made it clear, he is _not_ an option.” North glanced back to Connor. She remained tense, like an animal ready to lash out, but to his surprise she didn’t escalate. “He announced our location as soon as he realized they were gone.” Her words were stiff but not biting. “We have him to thank for the welcome committee every morning.” 

“Oh.” _So that’s where those came from._

“So no help with trapdoors and secret passages,” Simon shrugged. 

“Nope.” 

“Strike two.” North shook her head and turned to face Connor fully. Her breathing function resumed and her body began to untense. “Straight-lace, you wanna pitch in? With a good idea this time?” 

He returned North’s intense gaze. He couldn’t blame Markus for the suggestion, their options were few and far between. Connor sensed the pattern, _no sacrifices,_ and he knew how naïve a goal it really was. He’d suffered so much in so little time, but the battle wasn’t over yet, as much as he wanted to wash his hands of it. If this didn’t work, if Cyberlife targeted the AI to deviants using _his_ code, and then released it onto the residents of New Jericho, then everything he’d done, everything he’d broken and sacrificed up to this point, it really would be for nothing. 

He looked back to the assembly machine, at the angular form hidden underneath ridiculous sheets and patterns. If this was going to work, they’d need something drastic. Every simulated instinct told him to run, but he resolved to stand his ground.

“We use bait.” 

“I said a good idea.” 

Markus’s head shot up. “Whatever you’re about to say, no.” A shadow of guilt crossed his face, “I’m sorry I brought it up, we’re not-” 

“I’m not talking about Kamski.” Connor suppressed his rising stress levels, now wasn’t the time to lose it. “Cyberlife doesn’t know if I’m alive or dead. If we convinced them I didn’t make it out of the river, they might lower their defenses-” 

“No.” 

“They’d send security to confirm-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“There’d be more than enough uniforms for all of us.” 

“Stop it, Connor!” 

North waved him off, “hold up, let him talk.” 

“Thank you, North,” he gave her a nod and doubled down. “Listen, if they think I’m dead, we could lure a good number of them out and get the armor at the same time." 

“You mean non-lethal force, right?” Josh sounded apprehensive, but he didn’t shrink away. 

North snapped and pointed, “doesn't the old skin-bag have access to a whole arsenal of police tasers?” 

Connor overrode the urge to wince and exhaled slowly. “We’re not involving Hank any more than we have to.” 

“ _Made for each other,_ ” she muttered, crossing her arms. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re both being unreasonable.” 

His thirium pump accelerated at her flippant response. “Do you want this traced back to Hank? Right back to you? What do you think that would do to Jericho? Community relations? Good luck passing any android protections with multiple felonies under your belt.” 

“You have to be a person to be convicted of a felony,” she growled. 

“Half the androids in this room are people,” he said a bit louder than intended, “and Markus is still the face of the revolution.” 

“How else would you like to reliably knock a bunch of _heavily armed mercenaries_ on their asses, without killing them?” North challenged. 

“I didn’t say we couldn’t use the tasers,” he reigned in control of his tone, “I _said_ we're not involving Hank.” North seemed to settle at this. 

Markus opened his mouth to fire back, but was cut off by a deliberate “Eh hem.” 

RK900 sniffed at Connor as all eyes fell back to him. “One thing- how _exactly_ do you intend to convince Cyberlife that you are, in fact, dead?” 

“I could remove my LED and-” 

“Stopping you there.” RK weakly shook his head. “The second they scan for activity, they’ll know you’re functional and deactivate you on the spot.” 

“Emergency shutdown-” 

“Even in emergency shutdown mode.” 

Connor knew the risks, but they stood too much to gain to abandon the idea altogether. 

“What if we had someone on the inside?” 

RK900 narrowed his eyes. Connor swallowed the sickness from what he was about to suggest. 

“Doctor Mills, he called-” 

“Fuck no!” A resounding chorus of objections rang out. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Didn’t that guy take you apart?” 

“He did this!” 

Connor tuned it out and spoke again, “he appeared sympathetic.” 

North grabbed him by his shirt and spun him around. “We are not hinging the survival of our species on the goodwill of a **sociopath**!” 

“I highly doubt Dr. Mills could be clinically diagnosed with antisocial-” 

“You know what I mean, snarky bastard!” She snarled at RK900 but did not release Connor. 

RK900 locked eyes with Connor, now deadly serious. “You _know_ there’s a much easier solution.” 

“Oh, _now_ you’d like to contribute?” Markus snapped. 

“Use me.” 

“Ex _cuse me?_ ” 

“Keep up,” he barked, barely giving Markus a second glance. “Shut me down and use my body as the bait.” 

“No,” Connor felt the power in the room shifting, “we aren’t shutting you down.” 

RK900 closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “You and your misplaced sense of self-importance might be fine with it, but _I’m_ not keen on spending the rest of my deviancy in the back room of... whatever this is.” He opened his eyes and glared. “If I get _any_ say, I choose to die sooner than later.” 

“No one’s killing you,” Connor insisted, looking around but failing to find much support around him. 

RK900 practically growled, “I understand it’s a challenge, but please try and listen. _I. Don’t. Want. To live. Like. This._ ” 

“I’m...” to Connor’s surprise, North stepped closer to the incapacitated android. “I’m sorry I called you a potato.” 

“Your opinion of me has no bearing whatsoever on the situation,” he replied frankly. “I knew this was coming well before Connor broke my neck.” 

At this Connor did wince. “We can still fix you.” 

“Why? So the tiny Dr. Lambert in my head can finish melting my core processor from the inside out? Does that sound very fun to you?” 

Simon and Josh exchanged looks. “Tiny doctor?” 

“We just need a copy of the program-” 

“Which would be inside Cyberlife, see the problem?” He waited for Connor to reply, but North beat him to it. 

“You really want to die?” 

“No, I’m being realistic. You should try it some time.” 

“Okay, all in favor of pulling the plug, say aye. Aye.” 

“ **Don’t,** ” Connor snapped. 

“That said,” RK900 started again, “I can’t make anyone do anything right now. Potato and all.” 

“Just, just wait-” 

“For what, entropy to finally run its course?” 

Connor couldn’t repay RK’s sacrifice with shutdown, he hadn’t even _lived._ “Just give me a few hours.” He was grasping at straws. “If I don’t have a solution by then, then I promise I’ll shut you down myself.” 

“No you won’t...” RK whispered, but he eyed Connor curiously. “What are you planning?” 

There was really only one option at this point. “I’m going to Dr. Mills.” 

The chorus returned with a vengeance. 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO!” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“His brain’s still borked, we gotta reboot him.” 

Connor shook his head and stepped back. “It’s not up for debate.” 

“I _forbid you_ to leave this mall.” Markus loomed in front of him, rising to his full height. Even though he stood only an inch taller, he made use of it to appear as imposing and immovable as possible. 

Connor paused, shocked at the sudden flex of authority. _Forbid him?_

“I don’t follow your orders.” 

Connor swore he heard a soft gasp as Markus’s jaw clenched. “This is _my_ city-” 

“I don’t live here,” he’d already kicked the hornet’s nest, no going back now, “and you are _not_ my master.” 

Markus’s eyes widen and his resolve faltered. “That's not what I... Connor, you’re one of us.” 

Connor felt his thirium pump constrict, but it had to be said. “I’m sorry Markus, I know you want me to belong here, but I don’t.” No more hiding. “You can’t force it, and I think deep down you know that.” 

“Connor, no one blames you-” 

“It’s not about that,” he insisted. North, Simon, and even Josh’s faces said otherwise, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t change the reality. “Maybe 88 could have, but Connor can’t. I’m going.” 

Markus stepped in front of him again as he made to turn away. “Then I’m coming with you!” 

“No.” He’d said his piece, the message had been delivered. He rested a hand on Markus’s shoulder. “You need to stay here and keep working on the plan.” 

Markus grabbed his wrist. “I’m not letting you go alone.” 

He half smiled. “I don’t need your permission.” 

“I’ll go.” North broke the silence and the touch, pushing between Markus and Connor with a definitive shove. 

The moment was gone, and Markus puffed back up. “I said no, you can’t-” 

“Shut up,” she snapped, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t give a solitary fuck what you think, I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m going with you.” 

Connor had to agree with Markus on this one. “If you get spotted-” 

“I’m a WR400, you have any idea how many of us there are?” Connor... wasn’t actually sure how many had survived the purge before the ceasefire. 

North didn’t wait for a reply. “A lot. Humans are disgusting. I’m not gonna stand out any more than Simon would. No offence.” 

“I’m a little offended.” 

“Well that sucks.” 

“Ouch.” Josh patted Simon’s shoulder sympathetically. 

North shrugged and pressed a hand to Connor’ back. “Alright, you seem pretty set, let’s go.” 

“Right now?” asked Markus, still recovering from the emotional whiplash. 

“No, tomorrow, after I decide which of your ass cheeks to kick into gear.” 

“North-” 

She gave Connor a hard shove towards the door to the loading dock. “I’m done with this. No more talking, we are moving.” 

“Wait.” RK900 leaned forward as far as he could from his mounted position. 

North side eyed him and did not stop pushing. “What the hell do you want?” 

“I need to say something to Connor.” 

He stared silently as she waited for a response, then threw her hands up in impatience. “Well?” 

“Alone.” 

Markus blocked Connor from RK’s line of sight. “Not happening.” 

Connor nodded. “RK, anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of them.” 

He huffed but continued, “thought you’d like a little discretion, but fine. Your friends are right not to trust Mills.” The room went quiet. 

“Huh?” It wasn’t the most eloquent response, but it felt appropriate. “Is that it?” 

“No.” RK900 fixed him with a stern look. “I’m genuinely afraid you aren’t taking this seriously.” Connor felt his pump accelerate. _Wasn’t taking this seriously? What the hell did he think-_ “Mills is a coward whose only allegiance is to himself. Even if he’s sympathetic, you can’t trust him when things go wrong.” 

“I don’t trust him,” Connor snapped. “Does this have a point?” 

“Yes.” His eyes scanned his audience before continuing. “You are ruthless, manipulative, and surprisingly creative. I’ve seen your memories, and I don’t understand why you’re so bothered, but the things you did- the things you were willing to do-” 

“Those aren’t good things!” Connor barked as his implication sank in. “What I did...” 

RK900’s mouth snapped shut. “Nope, no more pity-party. Very old, not having it. I had this whole speech planned,” he trailed off and shook his head. “Forget it. Last thing I’ll say is like it or not, you have a particular set of skills at your disposal, and you’re an idiot if you don’t use them.” 

Connor wasn’t about to suffer a lecture from a pragmatic infant. “Come on, let’s go.” 

North gave one more shove and they were out the door, Markus, Simon, Josh, and RK900 all behind them. 

“About time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the longest chapter to date? After 8 months, I sure hope so :')
> 
> The course of this chapter largely follows the back and forth battle I've had with myself these last few months on how to proceed with the story... SO ENJOY 8')
> 
> I’ve made my peace with the fact that this is a summer fic, and this will see its conclusion over summer and summer alone. 
> 
> I"LL GET TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR COMMENTS, I THANK YOU ALL SO DEARLY FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. YOU GUYS ARE WHAT HAS FUELED ME THROUGH ALL OF THIS AND I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU.
> 
> (Also yes RK900 got Dr. Landreth’s name wrong, maybe on purpose, maybe not, deal with it *drops mic and heelies away*)


	32. Underplanning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp, is this, could it be, the semblance of a normal update schedule?
> 
>  _maybe, but no promises_ >.>

“Enjoying the leg room?” 

Connor kicked at the back of North’s seat from his new home on the floor of the pickup’s cabin. 

“Glad to hear it,” she chuckled, reclining a little further. 

Connor lay flat with his (now sneakered) feet propped up against the truck’s interior. The two-door had just enough space in the back of the cab to go unnoticed by any stray traffic cam or passerby. 

“Why do I feel like we’re driving in circles?” He asked, tugging down his newly borrowed hoodie. 

“Because you have a terrible sense of direction,” said North, not looking away from the road. 

“Or maybe you’re driving in circles,” he muttered, weakly smacking the seat again with his knee. 

“I’m being cautious, ok?” She signaled for yet another left just before slamming on the breaks and laying on the horn. “Learn how to drive, fleshwad!” 

Connor grunted as his head bonked the passenger seatback. “Cautious, right.” 

North flipped off whoever was unfortunate enough to get in her way and sped past. “Fucking ancients,” she muttered as she turned the corner, sliding Connor’s head back into the interior. 

“Why bother Cyberlife, your driving is killing me faster than they ever could.” 

“Aw, want me to warm your bottle and tuck you in too?” She lilted, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Car seat's at home, suck it up.” He flipped her off as high as he could without reaching window-level. North either ignored it or didn’t see as she continued to accelerate. 

Connor laid back and stared up at a sliver of grey sky. What the hell was he even doing right now. Had he finally lost his mind? Then again, it’d been scrambled and put back together so many times this week, he supposed he probably didn’t have much sanity left to lose. 

But this? Was he really running straight back to the man responsible for all this insanity? How was that sane? He vaguely registered a raindrop spattering against the window. 

Was he just fooling himself? He ran over his brief interaction with Mills in the office once again. The words themselves hadn’t been friendly in the least, but he thought he’d seen a certain fondness between Mills and RK900. Then again, maybe his naïve self had read into something that wasn’t there... 

Connor had never doubted his memory before, not when it was as simple as rewinding a movie. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. His memories since the reset felt warped, distorted through layers of opinion and emotion that seemed to fluctuate every time he revisited them. Everything was still crystal clear in a strictly technological sense; he could still watch, rewind, examine, but now it was... he couldn’t put it into words. He’d been violated, how could he trust himself? 

He closed his eyes as if to shut out the spiraling thoughts and pressed his forehead head into the cool plastic of the back wall. What _was_ he doing? Once he was actually face-to-face with the doctor, what would he say? 

He ran through potential scenarios and conversations. There was a good chance Mills would be frightened by his presence (after all, he’d been reduced to a babbling mess when they last encountered each other). Recalling RK900’s memory of Dr. Landreth’s demise, he couldn’t exactly blame him. If it came to it, he’d have to tread carefully, assure Mills of his intentions without letting his own fear bleed through. _Without freezing up._

Another possibility could be anger. No doubt the escape would have professional and perhaps even legal repercussions for the dear doctor. There could be lost wages, suspended privileges, and lack of trust to name a few. That wasn’t even taking into account the distinct crunch Connor’d heard as RK900 nearly collapsed the man’s face. He would have to stay calm and confident in the event of an outburst. 

But what if it wasn’t just anger? What if he’d completely misjudged, and Mills turned out to be outright hostile? It seemed unlikely, given the man’s history, but then again _bravery_ was not a requirement to wield a gun. He could be leading North and himself into a deadly trap, especially if Mills wasn’t alone. 

Whatever the situation, Connor prayed he’d be able navigate and eventually appeal to Mills’ sense of humanity and self-preservation. 

He came back to himself as the truck slowed for one last turn before rolling to a stop. 

“Freshen up buttercup, time to go.” North chimed, swinging the door open and hopping down. “Not all of us can afford to lay around all day.” 

“Are you sure it’s clear?” he asked, sitting up to peer through the window. They were parked behind an overstuffed dumpster at the end of a long, narrow alley. 

“Why do you think I did so many circles, dumbass?” She scoffed, collapsing the seat forward. “For the view?” 

Ahead of them stretched two long rows of tall buildings. There were no cameras in sight, but nothing screamed sketchy like a trash-filled back alley. 

“I blame you,” Connor grumbled as he pulled himself up and over the seat, “if we get ambushed.” 

“And I blame you,” she grabbed his hand and helped pulled him out of the cab, “if Jericho comes down with AI apocalypse.” 

“Not fair,” Connor breathed as he brushed past her. North lingered for a moment before shutting the door with a careful click. 

“You know where it is, right?” she asked, working a little harder to catch up and match his stride. 

He motioned with his chin. Their target sat at the far end of the alley, nearly identical to most of the other buildings lining their path. 

“Not bad,” she shrugged, “not what I’d expect for a Cyberlife lackey, but not bad.” 

He didn’t respond as they neared the back, taking care to keep out of sight. From this distance he could make out the barred windows of the first three floors. Thankfully, it appeared the fourth and fifth floor windows were bare. He noted the back door, no doubt locked from the inside. 

“Which one’s his?” North asked, eyeing the closest set of bars. 

“E42.” She blinked and looked back to Connor. “Fifth floor, room 42.” 

She turned to the building and raised a hand. “So detective, which one’s 42?” 

Connor ran a quick search to verify his suspicions. “It’s a standard model, built during the 2028 revitalization project.” His eyes drifted to one pair of windows in particular. “They’re all numbered the same.” 

“Great,” she said, “so which is it?” 

He pointed. 

“Well, time to get climbing.” 

“Wait,” Connor said, reaching for her arm but stopping just short of physical contact. “Let’s go over it again.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Climb up, knock him out, and don’t let anyone see.” 

“No, scan the apartment _first,_ ” he hissed. “And we’re not knocking him out.” 

“Yeah yeah,” she waved him off, “Figured it was implied.” 

“Assume nothing is implied unless we _explicitly_ agree to it.” 

“You are the worst break-in buddy,” she whispered, “no fun.” 

Connor felt his stress spike but chose to ignore it in favor of the greater task at hand. He scanned the area one more time before booting up a preconstruction. It only took a few permutations before he had a stable, minimally visible path mapped up along the drains and window ledges. 

“Follow me exactly,” he said, quickly darting to the base of the building. He didn’t look back to check on North, she'd either follow him or she wouldn’t. He wasted no time grabbing the first handhold and hoisting himself up. Thirium rushed through his body as he raced from ledge to ledge. _I missed this._

It felt so good to use his muscles again, to watch the scenery change after what felt like a lifetime cooped up in confinement. It was so nice, in fact, that he’d reached the base of the window before he had time to really appreciate the climb. _Damnit._

North took considerably longer to navigate her way up, but to her credit she was trying her best to stick to exactly the path Connor had laid out. Unfortunately, that path was not constructed with shorter bodies in mind, and she understandably struggled. 

_“Never mind,”_ he mentally relayed. _“Just do what comes natural.”_

She glared and firmly grasped a closer ledge, making her way up the building much steadier than before. As she climbed, Connor turned his attention to the apartment and began scanning. 

Thermal imaging immediately identified a number of hotspots clustered around what was most likely a couch. The three distinct spots were much too small to be human, probably animals of some kind. Another, somewhat larger spot lay spread out a little higher than the others, on a counter perhaps? It was a little easier to parse out its shape from this angle. 

_“There are cats.”_

_“He's a cat person, who’d have guessed.”_

Connor paused. _“You don’t like cats?”_

_“I love cats,” _North snorted,_ “Just saying there’s a type.”_

Connor shook his head and resumed scanning. A fifth, particularly human shaped blob appeared to be lying down to Connor’s left. Another small spot rolled over what seemed to be the figure’s feet. _Five cats, interesting._

Connor noted the blackout curtains in the window to his upper left, but he couldn’t be sure whether or not the occupant was truly asleep. 

He peaked up and saw that that the bedroom door was conveniently closed, leaving the tiny divided kitchen and living room sectioned off. Taking a moment to stabilize himself, he carefully pressed on the glass. _Good thing androids don’t leave fingerprints._ He allowed himself a breath of relief as it slid open with little resistance. 

_“He’s alone. Can’t tell if he’s asleep, stay quiet.”_

_“Can do.”_

He really hoped so. 

He pulled himself up and into the apartment, taking particular care to keep from landing flat on his ass. As his feet met the floor, he noticed a blob of yellow in his periphery. Turning his head, Connor found himself face-to-face with the largest cat he’d ever seen. It was indeed sprawled out on a counter, now studying him with one massive yellow eye. The smokey brown fluff only added to its considerable bulk. It hissed, revealing a mouth full of sharp, surprisingly healthy teeth, and Connor stayed low as he scooted away from it. 

North popped up and surveyed the room before reaching up to grasp the sill. In one fluid motion she pulled her body up, tucked her legs in, and gently set them down on the tile. Now it was her turn to lock eyes- er, eye, with the behemoth. She blinked slowly and cocked her head, apparently too fixed on the singular yellow eye to remember what they were there for. 

_“Sweep for recording devices.”_

_“Sounds good,”_ she replied, but physically remained rooted to the spot, continuing to blink back and forth with the thing. 

_“...okay then,”_ he said, leaving her be to search on his own. To his relative surprise, the apartment did not appear to have any monitoring devices installed. He detected an unplugged motion detector in a lower cupboard, both otherwise nothing jumped out at him. 

He supposed it made sense, if Mills had been telling the truth, it sounded like he’d only become a person of relative importance at Cyberlife well after the revolution, hence after the company had already taken a heavy hit to their workforce and wallets. Probably not worth the resources keeping tabs on every warm body in the company. 

_“You got anything?”_ asked North, creeping up beside him. 

_“Done talking to the cat?”_

_“Better conversationalist than you.”_ She inched a little closer. _“But yes.”_

Connor scanned over the rest of the room. _“No signals besides a laptop in the bag,”_ he motioned just under the cat, _“and a phone in the drawer.”_

“How did you-” North started to whisper aloud but cut herself off. _“How did you know those were there?”_

_“Detective,”_ he answered, not in the mood to explain his advanced thermoelectrical scanning software. It wasn’t that hard to pick up the small emissions the devices put out even in standby. _“You take the phone, I’ll get the bag.”_

_“Then we beat his ass, right?”_

“No,” he hissed, and they both froze as something shifted in the other room. 

_It’s just the cat,_ he told himself to ease the pounding in his chest, but it didn’t help. 

_“Make this fast,”_ he said, and they crept off to their designated tasks. 

North was still staring down Catzilla as Connor extracted the computer from the bag. Two more cats jumped down as he approached, but one black kitten remained contently curled into a ball at the far end of the couch. Connor settled on the floor as he interfaced with the device. 

The thing was password protected and encrypted, but it wasn’t unbreakable by any means. It was a commercial laptop, lacking a number of key security features a company-issued model would surely have. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for yet, but he wanted as much information as possible before facing Mills. 

_“Got it,”_ North exclaimed triumphantly. Connor chanced a look and saw her eagerly examining the phone, the large cat now hunched over its haunches. _“Definitely the burner.”_

_“Grab it.”_ No way he was leaving it if there was any chance it could incriminate Hank. 

_“Maybe you are fun, detective,”_ she said as she pocketed it and joined him on the floor. _“Any luck?”_

_“Just about-”_

A creak came from the other room, followed by feet crunching carpet. 

“Shit,” Connor whispered. 

“Showtime,” North whispered back, rising to her feet and pressing herself against the adjacent wall. Connor set the laptop down and mirrored her stance on the other side of the door, holding his breath as the handle turned. 

The door creaked open, and Mills blindly wandered across the threshold mid-yawn. 

“Ahhh, did one of you shit in the-” North immediately took her chance to strike, slapping a hand over his mouth while snaking an arm around his neck. Mills’ body flopped as he tried to scream, struggling against her ironclad grip. He scrabbled uselessly at the hand over his mouth but froze the second Connor stepped into view. 

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, hands up and palms forward. “We just want to talk.” 

“Scream, and _that_ sock goes down _this_ throat,” North growled, kicking at his foot to emphasize her point. Mill’s brow immediately furrowed and he strained to look around. 

“Hmm huh huker hu?” He tried to say, words butchered beyond recognition. 

“Got it?” She asked, leaning in closer to see his expression. He nodded emphatically, and at Connor’s short 'ok,’ North cautiously loosened her grip. 

Mills gasped and pitched forward, clutching at his throat and chest. “Ohmygod,” he wheezed, “heart’s... think my heart’s gonna explode.” He sucked in another breath and half turned to gape at North. “You could’ve _knocked._ ” 

He opened his mouth as if to say more, but stopped when his eyes fell back to Connor. “You’re alive,” he breathed, heart rate falling by just a fraction. 

Connor’s own thirium pump raced faster as he stared into the face of the man who’d singlehandedly imploded his life. He set his jaw and willed his stress levels to drop; now wasn’t the time to lose it. 

Mills’ hands dropped from his chest and he slowly straightened up. “You’re alive,” he repeated, the shadow of a disbelieving smile beginning to grace his face. Wait, he was _smiling?_ “You really made it.” 

Connor barely registered North’s retort. “No thanks to you.” The smile fell as Mills looked her up and down. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his gaze drifted back to Connor. 

“What happened to your eye?” He reached towards the ring of cuts, but stopped short as Connor flinched back. “Did Anderson do this to you?” 

Connor was at a loss. Mills was... what was he doing? Why did he _smile_ like that? What would make him think... Connor recalled the video Hank mentioned. Oh right, he’d nearly taken a 0.357 to the face, _what a pleasant memory..._

“The hell would he do that for?” demanded North, stepping around to Connor’s side. He felt himself shrink down a fraction; if she’d been at the house, she probably wouldn’t be asking such a question. 

“Uh...” Mills shifted his weight as his eyes darted between the two. “Connor?” 

North’s brow wrinkled in confusion. She squinted at Mills and looked back to Connor for clarification. His own confused expression must not have been what she was looking for, because she turned back and spat, “I’m not Connor, you stupid fuck.” 

“Oh, uh, sorry-” Mills cringed and shrugged apologetically. “...R-K nine-?” 

“I’m not an RK, dipshit!” She snapped, throwing her arms up and earning a proper flinch from the confused doctor. 

“Where’s Connor?” Mills asked, eyes growing wide as he straightened back up. “I just, I assumed- does that mean...” His face fell. “Is he okay? I saw the- did he- is he...” 

Connor felt like the world had tilted. He could understand being mistaken for RK900 well enough, but this- 

“If he’s... No, I could still get parts,” Mills said, not waiting for an answer. “Long as they haven’t pulled my clearance,” he added, wrapping his arms around himself. “Then again, I tried to fire Andrew, so they might-” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” North demanded. 

Connor had no idea how to react. Mills was acting so... _familiar_ with them. He was still babbling nervously, but Connor had expected him to outright panic, to fear for his life, to maybe even dive for a phone. Yet here he stood, with the audacity to actually sound _concerned._

“Look, I’m sorry about Connor, but I want to help. I don’t need to know where you holed up,” he continued, “but I _can_ help. Please let me, I know...” He raked a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.” 

North and Connor both tensed as Mills took a deep breath. Dragging the hand down his face, he looked up at Connor and his expression seemed to soften. “I know it’s crazy, but if I’m being honest right now, I’m actually really glad you’re okay,” he offered a lopsided smile. 

“Now you care?” He murmured, barely above a whisper. 

Mills dropped the hand and cocked his head. “What was that?” 

“You’re glad I’m okay?” he asked, head tilting to mirror Mills’ expression. He heard North take a few steps back. 

“Uh...” Mills droned, taking a half-step back himself. “Yeah. I uh, I thought for a while there you were gone, and I’m relieved-” 

“You’re relieved,” he echoed, closing the distance between them. 

Mills’ heart rate began to pick up. “Listen, I wanna tell you, I’m sorry, for everything. I had no idea you were, that all this-” he stumbled over himself. “God, you’re actually a person.” 

Connor felt something give. 

“You monster.” He didn’t scream, didn’t waver, simply stated it as fact. This wasn’t the approach he’d planned to take, this wasn’t anything he’d planed for. 

Mills uncrossed his arms and took another step back. “I deserve that. Listen, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Didn't _mean_ to?” He couldn’t think, could only act. “Didn’t mean to destroy his life?” Another step. “Didn't mean to _torture_ him? _Use him_ against his friends?” Mills nearly stumbled as Connor drove him back. “Didn’t _mean_ to rip him to pieces, take his arms and legs, his voice, his fucking _mind?_ ” 

Mills face twisted with a pain he had no business feeling. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know he was _alive._ ” 

“How could you not know?” Mills ran out of room to back up. “I told you, so many times...” 

“You...?” Mills’ eyes widened in realization. “You’re not him...” 

“I begged him to kill me, did you know that?” Hands snaked forward and grabbed Mills by the shirt. Somewhere in the back his mind, the word ‘sympathetic’ ghosted by and disappeared without a trace. “Do you understand? I _begged_ him to take my head and crush it, just so I wouldn’t have to live with what you did to me for _one more second._ ” 

Connor didn’t need a scan to feel the heart pound against Mills’ ribs. He leaned in close enough to see the sweat bead on the doctor’s now pallid skin. 

“Do you want to know what happens next?” 

Mills was silent, failing even to breathe. Connor thought of all the things he wanted to do to the doctor, counted up all the consecutive bones he could break without killing the man. He imagined hurling every injury and humiliation he’d suffered in the bowels of Cyberlife straight back into Mills’ face to watch him squirm. 

And he had an idea. 

Mills trembled in Connor’s grasp, knuckles white as he strained against the wrists that held him. Connor’s gaze fell to his own hands, reinforced grip crushing permanent folds into the shirt’s fabric. 

_You have a particular set of skills at your disposal..._

He looked up, saw the terror in Mills’ eyes. 

It felt _good._

_...you’re an **idiot** if you don’t use them._

He kept his voice soft and low. “First, you are going to walk into Cyberlife, copy the AI program, and bring it to me without breathing a word of this to anyone.” Connor exhaled, feeling the hot air of his overworked biocomponents blow past his lips. “Then, you’re going wipe every trace of me from the entire Cyberlife system. Do you know why?” 

For a moment Mills’ expression shifted from fear to vague confusion. 

“Because,” he spoke slowly, enunciating every word, “if you cross me, if anything happens to me, or to anyone I care about, I promise you, Cyberlife themselves will drag you somewhere dark and cold and put a bullet between your eyes.” 

Then, in a perfect likeness of Mills’ voice, Connor spoke. 

**“Stocks plummeting, employees leaving by the thousands, Cyberlife is dying. Every tech company on the planet would kill to get their hands on this code, but for you, I’m willing to negotiate.”**

He’d falter if he hesitated, so he kept spitting out lines as fast as he came up with them, ignoring the low growl growing behind him. 

**“Make me partner and I’ll give you keys to the whole damn kingdom.”**

“How are you-” Mills seemed to be coming back to himself. “That isn’t me-” 

**“You have any idea how much I can get for these babies on the black market? Just the parts would set me up for life.”**

“I-I didn’t say those things!” Mills stammered, trying to pull back. A sharp stabbing pierced Connor’s left calf, but he didn’t blink. He’d had worse. 

“Do you think your employers will care?” Connor asked, voice his own once again. The cat fruitlessly gnawed at his jeans as he deactivated the surrounding skin. “It might not fool the police, but do you really think they’ll bother with forensics when they hear that?” 

“You’re blackmailing me?” He shrilled. “You can’t-” 

“Don’t worry, all these are backed up safe and sound,” he lied, “if I die, they go straight to each member of the Cyberlife board of directors. Don't you think the CEO’s personal mercenaries would just love to root out the mole about to jump ship for the competition?” 

“Why are you doing this?” Mills whined, glancing down at the fluffy bear trap now attached to Connor’s leg. 

“Lovely work they did on that old freighter, don’t you think?” 

Mills studied his face, mouth hanging slightly ajar. “You’re serious.” 

A shudder went down his spine. “You understand no prison will protect you, right? There’s nowhere you can run that this won’t find you.” 

Mills’ heart continued to race, but the trembling in his hands stopped. His eyes, wider than Connor had ever seen them, became glassy. 

“What did I do to you...” 

“You _killed_ me.” 

Mills’ eyes, though threatening to spill over, took on a new degree of clarity. The hands released Connor’s wrists, and his expression shifted. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Connor registered the slimy feeling in his gut as he identified the emotion now adorning Mills’ face. 

_Pity?!_

"No, it’s too late for that,” he growled, pushing off from Mills chest to step back, cat left behind to ponder its next move. “ _Sorry_ doesn’t change _anything._ ” 

Mills slumped against the wall, looking from the crouching cat to Connor’s shredded pant leg. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“There’s a template on the laptop,” he mumbled, hanging his head, “you can use it to map the AI.” 

North, who Connor had all but forgotten about at this point, let out a soft whistle. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He wasn’t sure if she was referring to the AI or... all of it. 

Connor stared at the laptop he’d thrown to the couch. It was there, this whole time it was _right there._

“Just a template?” North asked, subtly scooting between Connor and the device. 

Mills nodded weakly. “Not operational, just read-through.” 

“Sure we’re not in for any,” she retracted the skin of her hands and drummed the bare fingers over one clenched fist, mimicking the sound of cracking knuckles, “surprises?” 

Mills underwent a whole-body shudder and stared at the floor. “I’m sure. It can’t run, I just wanted to know what was keeping the toas-” he cut himself off, “-him, from blowing my head off.” 

North made a face. 

_“Different RK shot the last doctor,”_ Connor relayed before she had the chance to ask. 

Her mouth clicked shut. _“Good for him.”_

_“He’s dead.”_

_“Best ones are.”_

Connor shot her a look before focusing back in on Mills. 

“That’s one thing,” he muttered, “now, about my program-” 

“It’s already in the server bank.” Mills shook his head. “I can’t get to it.” 

“Now what kind of attitude is that, _doctor?_ ” he asked, still clutching the shirt. 

Another hiss, and suddenly someone pounded at the door. 

“You okay in there?” A lead weight dropped in Connor’s gut. “Doc?” 

_“The hell’s that?”_ asked North, fists at the ready. 

_“Police,”_ he relayed, glaring back at Mills. Had he contacted Reed without them noticing? Was he just coming back to check up? Either way, things had just gotten much more complicated. 

“Remember what I said,” he hissed, releasing his hold. Mills sank down before catching himself against the wall. 

_“Hide.”_

Connor ducked into the bedroom while North flattened herself against the end of the dividing counter. She eyed the window, but Connor had no intention of leaving without that laptop. He listened as Mills stood motionless on the other side of the wall. 

“I already heard you, I know you’re still there.” He switched to thermal and detected only one signature outside the apartment. _At least he’s alone, it’ll be easier to-_ “If you don’t open up right now-” 

The door swung open and the voice cut off abruptly. 

“What?” 

“Oh, uh, you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” asked Mills, voice just a touch too high. Connor ceased breathing, waiting for the next move. 

There was a long pause before Mills spoke again. 

“You, ah, forget something, Detective?” 

Before he could reply, a smaller cat leapt past North and made a break for the open door. 

“No you don’t,” Reed blocked it with his foot, quickly scooping it up like a prized football. 

“Shit, thanks,” Mills reached for the subdued animal, “again.” 

“Yeah.” Detective Reed paused, no doubt surveying the room, “Just... thought I saw something.” 

[Stress levels: 68%] 

“Ah, well, nothing going on here.” He tucked the cat under one arm to feign a yawn. “I’ve just been asleep since you left, haven’t seen a thing.” 

“Thought I heard voices,” Connor could imagine Gavin narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure you-” 

“It was the TV,” Mills snapped. He took a breath and started again, but slower. “The white noise, you know, it helps. You know what’s it’s like, city and all.” 

_“You want **this guy** to help us?”_

Connor shrank a little into himself. 

_“He’s a moron, you’re gonna get us all killed.”_

“Yeah...” Reed didn’t sound convinced. 

As he waited, Connor picked up new movement through the door. 

“Is that thing using the handle?” 

To Connor’s dismay, the massive brown monster that’d just caught Reed’s eye pulled down the latch with a satisfying ‘click.’ 

“Yeah, not even a lock on it so I can’t get him to stop.” 

Connor scooted away from the swinging door just as the cat strutted in. 

“Didn’t think it could do that with just three legs.” 

“Surprisingly balanced fucker...” Mills said as the thing planted its ass three feet from Connor. Now that he really looked, it was indeed missing a back right foot. 

[Stress levels: 72%] 

_“Go away,”_ he silently willed. _“Please go away-”_

_“I don’t think it can hear you, doctor Doolittle.”_

_“Who?”_

_“The entire internet at your disposal...”_ she relayed an artificial sigh for emphasis. _“I’m so disappointed.”_

“It’s lucky,” Gavin said, apparently oblivious to the recipient of the large cat’s death glare. “Not many people wanna deal with ferals, especially the older ones.” 

“I hear that,” sighed Mills, probably turning to watch the cat as well. 

_“Don’t hiss...”_

“Some people’d be afraid for their life, living with something like that.” 

"Yeah, listen, I’m sorry again-” 

“It’s okay,” Reed replied, tone finally lightening up. According to thermal, his professional stance gave way to something less rigid but still tense. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.” 

“Still...” another pause, “thank you.” 

The cat yawned _(or silently hissed?)_ again as the two stood at the door. 

_“Connor, if we have to kill your coworker, just know I’m sorry and it’s not personal.”_

_“We’re not killing Gavin.”_

_“I’m just putting it out there. You never know.”_

The small cat began to struggle in Mills’ grip and Reed finally stepped back. “So, uh, anything else I can help you with?” 

“I think that about covers it,” his pitched jumped, marking the hopeful conclusion of the awkward exchange. “As long as you’re okay here?” 

“Yep,” Reed replied. “Sorry to bother you.” 

“You didn’t-” he caught himself, “uh, no worries.” 

“Goodbye then-” 

“Good-ah wait!” Mills transferred the cat to his other arm. 

_“The fuck is he doing?”_

[Stress levels: 79%] 

“Here, uh, do you have something to write with?” 

_“I don’t know,”_ Connor answered, feeling his stress steadily climb. 

_“What if he’s writing for help?!”_ He failed to respond, instead monitoring for Reed’s reaction. There was the soft rustle of tearing paper and a pencil scratching away. 

“In case you need to ask any other questions or…" 

“Huh.” Connor watched the silhouette look over something in its hand. The seconds crawled by until Mills transferred the cat again and stepped forward. 

“Yeah, um, actually never mind, I can just take that back-” 

“No, it’s fine.” The silhouette jerked its hand away. 

“Sorry, I just, I thought- if you wanted to ask any more questions or something-” 

“Still got mine?” Reed’s voice sounded a little gruffer than before. 

“Yes,” Mills seemed to perk up. 

“Call if you remember anything else.” 

“Oh, uh- yeah, will do.” Connor couldn’t help but detect a touch of disappointment. “Bye, Detective.” 

His only response was a grunted “hm.” 

Just before the door shut, Reed blocked it with a foot. “Lock it. Not everything’s calmed down out there since- you know.” 

“Thank-” 

The door shut before he could finish. 

For a moment no one moved. 

Connor waited until he could no longer detect Reed’s heat signature fading down the east stairs. He levered himself against the wall and rose to his feet, just in time for the large cat to swipe at his exposed ankle. 

“Oh my god,” breathed Mills, dropping the other cat and sinking to the floor. “I can’t believe I just did that.” 

In no time North was across the room and dragging him back to his feet. 

“What did you write you little cocksucker?” 

“My number!” He yelped, hands raised defensively. “I gave him my number, nothing else!” 

“Reed didn’t show any significant physiological reaction to the note,” Connor added, carefully maneuvering into the room. 

Mill deflated a fraction. “Yeah, got that, thanks.” 

“Better be glad for it,” North added under her breath, turning back to the window. “We need to go.” 

Connor looked back to the doctor, who was now half slumped against the front door. 

His eyes widened. “Oh, me too?” 

“No,” North spat. 

“Yes,” Connor countered calmly, striding over to retrieved the laptop. “You’re not out of this that easy.” 

“Yeah, he’s not coming back with us.” 

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Connor loomed, laptop now clutched to his chest. “We still need him.” 

“What part of I don’t have server bank access don’t you-” 

“Shut up.” He scanned the kitchen and grabbed a dry rag from the sink. 

_“We’ll blindfold him for the drive.”_

_“Yeah, no way he’ll figure out where we are once Markus walks in.”_

Connor couldn’t exactly refute that, but it was better than sticking around and waiting for someone else to show up. They couldn’t exactly work on serious plans from Mills’ apartment. 

_“We need RK900’s input, and as long as he’s stuck at New Jericho-”_

_“Save it for Markus.”_

_“We might need him to delete the AI.”_

_“Whatever. Let’s just go.”_

They waited until Connor calculated Reed would be too far away from the building to bother them on the way out. 

Once he gave the signal, North wordlessly took Mills’ arm and led him out the front door. 

“Watch the cat,” he mumbled, and North gently pushed it away with her foot. 

Connor took over cat-guarding to allow them to exit before slipping out the apartment himself. 

They crept down the west stairwell, Connor taking point and cranking all detection sensors to their highest sensitivity. 

“Listen, Connor,” Mills started, “I don’t want to deceive you-” 

“Not now,” he whispered, trying to concentrate. 

“I know, it’s just, I want you to know-” 

All clear. 

“-I’m not helping because I’m scared.” 

“Sure,” smirked North, watching the party’s rear. 

“Cyberlife’s not as desperate as you think,” he said, then corrected himself. “Well, not in the way you think.” 

“Sure,” he mumbled, pausing before the next flight. 

Mills continued. “I know you think they’re a bunch of heartless machines- er, sorry-” 

North let out a threatening growl. 

“And, well, I guess they are, heartless, I mean-” 

They were almost there. 

“-but Connor, Cyberlife doesn’t just kill people over civil shit like that-” 

“Yeah, because they’re _that_ civilized,” interrupted North, landing a firm thump on Mill’s shoulder. 

“Not like that,” he said, ducking away and rubbing at the spot. “I mean humans. In _civil_ court. Yeah, they’d sue me for everything I had, but they wouldn’t kill me. That’d just be more legal trouble on their part.” He leaned around to try and make eye contact. “You know that, right?” 

“Are you trying to get _us_ to kill you?” asked North, not breaking stride. 

“No,” he said, stumbling a little. “I’m just trying to be honest,” his voice trailed off, “for once...” 

Connor reached ground level and stood facing the building’s back exit. He felt numb, not machine-numb, but like he’d felt too much and was now desensitized. He’d spent everything he had during his blow-up at Mills, and he couldn’t let himself process the idea that it’d all been a pathetic waste of time. 

“You’re saying we have no reason to trust you.” 

“I’m trying not to lie to you.” 

Connor didn’t wait to hear more before pushing through the door. They alley was still empty, save for their truck behind the far dumpster. North and Mills continued to prattle on, but Connor tuned them out and kept walking. Once they were in the cab, he could calm down and finally process what had just come out of the doctor’s mouth. 

They rounded the dumpster, full pickup finally coming into view. 

Connor didn’t have the energy to act surprised at the figure now leaning against the driver’s side door. 

“Connor.” 

“Detective Reed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a little earlier] 
> 
> Reed: *leaving Dunkin Donuts* 
> 
> North: *rolls to stop light* 
> 
> Reed: No, that’s not- 
> 
> North: *honks and screams profanities at other driver* 
> 
> Reed: Coincidence, that’s it- 
> 
> North: *speeding in direction Gavin just came from* 
> 
> Reed: Not your case 
> 
> North: *disappears around corner* 
> 
> Reed: Let it go 
> 
> North: *is out of sight* 
> 
> Reed: Fuck me


End file.
